


Help Me Make You Perfect

by kallistob, MercurialTenacity



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Teachers, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Begging, Blindfolds, Blow Jobs, Bottom Original Percival Graves, Breathplay, Bruises, Choking, Coercion, Credence is like 16/17, Crying, Desk Sex, Dirty Talk, Emotional Manipulation, Extremely Dubious Consent, Forced Orgasm, Forced Relationship, Gaslighting, Grindelwald's version of aftercare anyway, Hand Jobs, Handcuffs, Humiliation, Ice Cream, Internalized Victim Blaming, Isolation, Job Interviews, Kissing, Light Bondage, M/M, Manipulation, Nipple Play, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Obedience, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, Pet Names, Power Dynamics, Power Imbalance, Power Struggle, Rape/Non-con Elements, Restraints, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Self-Doubt, Semi-Public Sex, Shopping, Submission, Teacher/Student, Threesome, Underage Sex, Undressing, Verbal Humiliation, Victim Blaming, Voyeurism, lots of other porny tags to add which shall be updated with each chapter, public flirting, sort of, verbal feminization
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-11-09 12:33:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 30,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11104659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kallistob/pseuds/kallistob, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercurialTenacity/pseuds/MercurialTenacity
Summary: After moving to a new town and being hired at a new, prestigious school, history teacher Percival Graves does his best to find his place - only to find out first hand the dangers of accepting help you can’t repay.And men like Gellert Grindelwald? They don't take no for an answer.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> MercurialTenacity: All the thanks to Kallistob for going on this wild ride with me - and for actually knowing how schools work, making one of us. Please enjoy! <3
> 
> Kallistob : HI <3 a huge thank you to MT bc it's been an absolute pleasure to work with them on this story, and I can't wait for you guys to see the porn tbh 
> 
> A little bit of a precision because Funkspiel informed me she'd been confused when beta-reading : MT was home schooled, and I'm French, so neither of us actually know how the American school system works. 
> 
> For me, a head teacher as mentioned in the fic is someone who, in France, is in charge of a subject (like any other teacher) but also gets assigned a class. His job is to make sure everything is alright within that class. Like, if students have a problem with a teacher, if something happened, if there are tensions, etc, it is the teacher's job to know all of it and find solutions in order to make sure students are okay. sort of. Usually one hour per week is dedicated to briefing with the class and make sure everything's all right, as well as inform students of any upcoming activites, events, outings, etc etc etc. 
> 
> That being said, E N J O Y <33

Graves worries his bottom lip between his teeth, waiting for the traffic light to turn green. He's running late for his interview - Ilvermony Academy is a once in a lifetime opportunity, and it makes him feel extremely nervous. He almost didn’t apply to this school; he doesn’t quite have the resume for a private institution, but they have an opening in his subject, the pay is good, and it’s nearby. In the end the worst that can happen is that he doesn’t get the position, so here he is.

He manages to find parking without too much difficulty and navigates to Director Picquery’s office without getting lost, so that must be a good sign.

He checks in with the secretary and takes a seat, trying not to fidget too much as he waits. As much as it feels like forever, he knows the wait is only a few minutes. He’s right on time, and this looks to be a very punctual place.

“Mr. Graves?” A blond, gorgeous woman calls him, and Graves jumps to his feet. “Madam Picquery will see you now.”

Taking one last, deep breath in an attempt to settle his nerves, Graves walks through the door.

The office is pristine, and Graves glances around for a moment as a woman who must be Director Picquery motions brusquely for him to take a seat.

The tight lipped woman in front of him looks down at his resume, frowning, while Graves does his best not to fidget in his chair. “You taught at two public schools before?”

“Yes, Madam,” Graves says, clearing his throat. “In different cities.”

There’s someone behind her, thumbing through a stack of papers, seemingly deep in thoughts, but Graves can see how his eyes flicker towards them every now and then. He tries not to let it distract him.

“Is it a habit of yours to move around so often?”

“I’m seeking new opportunities,” he says, trying to smile.

“I can see that,” Picquery says cooly. “You had some nerve to apply to this position with a resume like yours. You're young, Mr. Graves. But I promised myself I’d give every candidate a chance. We want what is best for our students. So,” Picquery crosses her fingers and leans forward in her chair, looking intently at him. “What makes you think you’re any better than the other candidates I’ve met so far?”

Graves swallows. His first, absurd thought is that he hasn’t met the other candidates, so he can’t very well say. That is possibly the least helpful thing his mind could come up with, and he holds back a sigh. Here is the difficult part. Sound honest, but not too much. Sound assured, but not arrogant. He loves teaching. He’s always known it was what he wanted to do in life. He wants to become better, wants to make a difference in his students’ lives. And what’s the best way to do that than try out different schools, different environments, to confront the reality of the field? Why not, then, even apply to a school as prestigious as Illvermony?

But for Picquery, him moving around probably means that he is either unstable or unwilling to get invested in a job long term. And he needs to convince her that he’s worth more than that, but he doesn’t know how.

The silence stretches on and Graves starts to panic. Picquery raises one perfectly sculpted eyebrow at him and fuck, he needs to come up with an answer, but -

“Why did you settle on teaching, Mr. Graves?” The man at the back breaks in smoothly, setting his papers aside. He looks both odd and pristine, with his sharp, well fitted suit and mismatched eyes. Picquery turns her head minutely towards him.

“Gellert. This is my interview.”

“Mr. Graves?” Gellert says, ignoring her, focused on him.

And that question, Graves can answer.

“I wouldn’t say I settled for it. Teaching has always been my goal, it’s something that’s very exciting to me.”

“Exciting?” Gellert prompts him.

“Absolutely. Helping students to think about things in new ways and seeing that moment when they make connections is incredibly rewarding. In a way, increasing their knowledge about the world is weaving new layers into an armor they will need to prepare them for what’s awaiting outside. Especially at this age, guiding the way they engage with the world is an important responsibility, and it’s something I’m passionate about doing to the best of my ability.”

Piquercy hums in consideration as she looks back down at her notes, but Graves could swear he sees a faint look of… approval in the eyes of the man behind her.

It’s less of a disaster after that. Graves at least manages to answer all the questions without unbearably long pauses, and even manages to maintain some of the enthusiasm he worked up. He still, however, gets the distinct feeling that Picquery is wondering why exactly he’s sitting in her office.

When she doesn’t have any more questions to ask him she rises up, taller than Graves, and tells him that he’s dismissed. It’s sudden, and distant, and Graves understands immediately that she does not plan to hire him.

He stills shakes her hand, tucks his coat under his arm and makes his way to the door after saying his goodbyes. He sees the blond man lean over Picquery’s desk and Picquery smiling, just a little, and immediately imagines that they must be making fun of him. With as much dignity as he can muster, Graves leaves the place.

It’s one afternoon out of his life, that’s all. Embarrassing, sure, but it’s nothing he can’t recover from. Like he told himself before, the worst thing that can happen is he doesn’t get the job.

Once he gets outside the building he takes a minute to collect himself and breathe, taking in the much needed fresh air after the frankly stifling atmosphere of Picquery’s office. It may not be the worst thing in the world, but that doesn’t mean he feels good about it. The Ilvermorny campus really is beautiful, and Graves swallows back the slight pang in his chest that he likely won’t step foot on it again.

“Those things will kill you.”

Graves wheels around. He hadn't heard the other person approach, and with a start he realizes it is the same teacher that stayed behind Madam Picquery, organizing paperwork throughout his interview. Gellert.

“Gellert Grindelwald,” the man offers, holding his hand out towards Graves. “Physics teacher. And Picquery’s right hand man, so to speak.”

“Oh.” Graves throws his cigarette to the ground and stomps on it before accepting the gesture hastily. Grindelwald lets his hand linger a tad longer than strictly necessary before letting Graves go. “So you know that I won't be part of your team anytime soon.”

“Why?” Grindelwald asks, raising an eyebrow.

“You were there,” Graves murmurs. “You saw what happened.”

“Don't be fooled, Mr. Graves. She liked your honesty. No, I'm afraid that you will very much join us when September comes. If Madam Picquery fails to see what an asset you could be to our team, I'll make sure to convince her.” Grindelwald smiles at him. “You're an interesting man.”

“Thank you,” Graves says, surprised, because he doesn't know what else to say. He hopes Gellert doesn't notice the slight flush on his cheeks - he never did handle compliments well.

Gellert steps closer to him. His gaze is sharp, keen, focused solely on Graves. Graves doesn't move, pinned by those mismatched eyes, and feels Grindelwald’s hands on him, straightening up the lapels of his vest and the collar of his shirt.

“When September comes,” Grindelwald says, “Wear a tie. And make sure your shoes are polished to the perfection. I can help you with all this - just call me.” Grindelwald slips a business card in Graves’ vest pocket. “It’ll be easier for you to fit in if you at least look like you belong here.”

Graves nods, throat tight. Grindelwald steps back, professional once again, and says, “We'll call you back within the week should you get the position, Mr. Graves. Have a good day.”

Then he turns on his heels and is gone.

Graves taps the pocket in which he can feel the hard edge of the business card, and isn't sure how to feel about the job anymore.

Graves gets the call four days later, and after he hangs up he has to sit down in shock. Gellert really must have pulled strings with the director, because no matter what he said outside the school that day, Madam Picquery had not been intending to hire him.

He has two months until term starts, which means two months to turn himself into someone who looks as though he belongs in Illvermorny’s prestigious halls. He thinks through his wardrobe and gets a sinking feeling in his chest when he realizes that of the two ties he owns, one of them sports a coffee stain. He doesn't even know how one would attempt to polish shoes. How the hell did he get this job?

Graves spends a frantic fifteen minutes searching through the papers on his kitchen counter for Gellert’s card before he realizes he never took it out of his vest pocket.

He rummages through his closet until he finds it, glad for once to have put off doing laundry. He feels a bit awkward calling this man, but if he’s honest with himself he’s not prepared for how to present himself at this job, and he doesn’t think he could take Picquery’s disapproving looks on a daily basis. So he calls Gellert.

When he meets Gellert at the tailor that weekend, he doesn’t know what to expect.

“Congratulations Percival,” he says, taking Graves in a firm handshake. “I told you we could see the… value you’d bring to our school.”

Graves doesn’t know whether he imagined Grindelwald’s slight hesitation.

The tailoring shop is overwhelming, and Graves knows as soon as they step through the door that he’s out of his element. He’s never had clothes made for him before, and if this is the sort of thing that will be expected of him he doesn’t know how he’s going to manage.

Grindelwald must see his uncertainty, because he steps up to Graves’ side and takes responsibility for explaining what they’re looking for. He takes Graves by the elbow and guides him past the racks of fabrics, explaining the qualities of each one as though he expects Graves to be able to remember them. Graves does his best to look as though he’s taking it in, but he knows he doesn’t convince Grindelwald.

And then all of a sudden Grindelwald is stepping in close to him, running his fingers over the lapels of Graves’ jacket, and Graves takes a step back, startled.

“A fabric like _this -”_ Grindelwald tugs lightly for emphasis “- won’t hold up over time. I’m sure it looked nice when you bought it Percival, but now… hmm. We can do better.” Grindelwald smooths his jacket back down over his chest, and Graves tries to ignore the way it makes him shiver. Grindelwald is a colleague, maybe even a friend, and Graves is grateful for his help.

Grindelwald watches as the tailor measures him, tape measure wrapped tight around each part of his body in turn, his eyes following each movement. There is absolutely no reason that Graves should feel himself blushing.

When Grindelwald takes him back for the fitting a week later he seems determined to check the cut of all the clothes himself. He runs his hands over the fabric of what will soon be Graves’ new vest, feeling the way it tapers to his waist, and gives a satisfied smile.

“There. Doesn't that feel better?”

“It -” Graves clears his throat. “Yes. Thank you.” He almost doesn’t recognize his own image in the mirror. The fabric Grindelwald chose for him is nicer than anything he’s ever worn, and the way it fits his body...

Grindelwald’s smile widens. “A man of your figure deserved it. Soon, you will wear it like a second skin.”

Graves shakes his head, regretful and with a twinge of embarrassment. “I can’t possibly pay for this.”

Grindelwald waves his hand in a vague, dismissive gesture. “I already bought them. Consider it a gift.”

“You did what?” Graves says, looking at Grindelwald in shock. He must have heard wrong. He knows how much what he’s wearing costs, and he doesn’t want to think about the total.

“Pay me back with your first Illvermony check if you must, but I’d rather you did not. Now -” Gellert looks at his watch. “Do you have anywhere to be?”

“No,” Graves says, still reeling over the fact that Gellert bought him clothes more expensive than the nicest thing he owns as casually as if he were picking up the tab at dinner. _What the fuck._ “No - no plans.”

“Shall we grab coffee together, then?” Gellert asks, smiling. “I’d love to get to know you better. We’re colleagues, after all.”

Graves hesitates. Then, nods. “At least let me pay for the coffee. I owe you.”

“That you do, Mr. Graves,” Grindelwald says, barely above a whisper.

“What was that?”

“Nothing, Percival. Please. Lead the way.”

Grateful for the opportunity to pay back at least a little bit of his debt - he owes Gellert so much already and he doesn’t know how to feel about it - Graves nods and makes his way out of the store.

 

\--------------------

 

When his alarm clock rings on the - the Day, Graves gets out of bed so fast his feet tangle in the blanket. He trips, undignified, and falls onto the carpet. He sits on the floor for a moment, stunned, and can only hope it’s not indicative of how the rest of his day will go.

A moment later he’s back on his feet and walks to the bathroom. He’s early - he’s got two hours to get ready and make sure he looks perfect, at least appearance wise. There’s no calming his mind or the knot of anxiety in his stomach, so Graves does his best to ignore it as he steps into the hot shower and lets water run over his skin.

He pays a particular attention to the way he shaves, running the blade over his skin and making sure not to nick it, and checking the smoothness with the palm of his hand. He dabs a bit of aftershave on his wrists and over his neck - not too much, just the right amount. Is it the right amount? Fuck. He hopes he doesn’t reek.

He smooths his hair back meticulously, glaring at one rebel strand that keeps falling onto his forehead. He regretfully takes off the single earing he owns - he can’t imagine the look he’d get from Picquery if she saw it.

Then he’s back into his bedroom, appraising the folded suit he prepared yesterday waiting for him on a chair, next to the full body mirror in the corner of his room.

Carefully, he unfolds each item of clothing and puts them on. The soft, expensive fabric of the shirt glides over his skin, and Graves doesn’t feel worthy, but he doesn’t have a choice. Gellert said he’d get used to it - he can’t wait for that.

Underwear, socks, pants. The tie. The dark waistcoat with red threading. Grindelwald swore the color flattered him, and he’d have to trust his judgement.

When he’s done, Graves gives himself a critical once over. He looks good, there’s no denying that. But something is missing. A small detail, something -

Tie pins.

His mind conjures up the image of his father’s scorpions tie pins, something his mother gave him at Christmas. They’re not as expensive as what he’s wearing, but Graves likes them. His father displayed them proudly every Sunday, saying they were both too beautiful for work and too beautiful not to be worn at least once per week.

When he died, Graves inherited them. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to put them on, but he thinks his father would want him to today.

It is a good thing he is a tidy man, because he wastes only twenty minutes rummaging through his flat before he remembers where he stored his family’s precious items. In a small wooden box, sitting somewhere amongst his suitcases and bags. Graves finds it and unlocks it, smiling. There they are.

He holds the two tie pins up to the light. They’re slightly dusty, but it’s nothing Graves can’t fix. They look ancient, noble, and Graves knows that’s what he’d been missing.

Feeling slightly reassured and more confident, he uses the sink of his bathroom to gently clean the piece of jewelry with a handkerchief, then watches himself in the mirror as he pins them on. He takes in his reflection, and nods. The clothes Grindelwald bought him are beautiful, but he’s glad to be wearing something of his own as well.

He checks his phone - the clock is ticking, and he should leave - before walking back to his bedroom and checking his reflection one last time.

He looks like a different man. Hopefully that will be enough to convince both the staff and the students that he is one as well.

Steeling himself, Graves grabs his briefcase, his car keys, and leaves home.

 

\--------------------

 

The traffic is worse than he thought, and he’s glad he decided to leave early. He still manages to arrive in time, but he definitely didn’t need the added stress.

Graves sits in his car, gripping the steering wheel, steeling himself to go inside. He’s as prepared as he can possibly be. He know his subject, he’s learned the lesson plan for the year, he’s dressed to Grindelwald’s specifications, and he can do this. He just needs to make himself go inside. Wryly, he thinks he’s probably more nervous than some of his students are for their first day of school.

He gets no more than ten paces from his car before he runs back to retrieve his briefcase from the passenger seat, and then he’s on his way again.

The campus is buzzing with activity; students flagging down their friends and comparing schedules, teachers shuffling through notes and telling students off for blocking the corridor, and an overall air of agitated excitement fills the halls and spills out onto the grounds. Graves lets himself be swept along by it, nerves starting to give way to anticipation. He really is glad to have this job. As much as he doesn’t quite fit in, he’s looking forward to working with these people, to helping these kids learn, and he does his best to believe it when Grindelwald tells him he’ll find a place here.

There’s never terribly much teaching that happens on the first day, and Graves is as glad as his students are for a chance to get oriented.

He sees Grindelwald in the main hall and hesitantly waves his hand towards him. Grindelwald is talking to a young woman Graves doesn't know, and he nods at Graves when he sees him. He looks perfect, not a single hair out of place. The blue fabric of his shirt compliments his eyes and -

Right. The job.

Graves walks up to them, standing tall and clutching his briefcase as he joins his colleagues. The woman looks curiously at him as Grindelwald makes the introductions.

“Tina, this is Percival Graves, our new history teacher. He’s replacing Albus. I was there for his interview.”

“Nice to meet you,” Tina smiles. “My sister is Director Picquery’s secretary, surely you must have met her?”

Graves thinks of the blond woman, and nods. “I have. It's a pleasure to meet you too - I look forward to working with you. What do you teach?”

“French,” Tina smiles. “ _Comment allez-vous ?”_

 _“Bien, merci,”_ Graves replies _,_ accented _. “But_ I'm afraid my French is a bit rusty.”

Tina giggles.

“Here is the plan,” Grindelwald informs him. “You will meet the other teachers in the staff room, Mr. Graves. Madam Picquery will hand us our schedules and then we will direct ourselves to the theater, so she can give something of a beginning of the year speech and introduce each member of this institution. I doubt Director Picquery will make you head teacher for your first year, so this doesn't concern you. If you're not head teacher, you may just join one of us as we do our own speech in our assigned class - it usually lasts an hour - and then we all gather in the staff room again to catch up with old times.”

By the time Grindelwald is through the three of them have reached said staff room, if the golden engravings on the door are anything to go by. Grindelwald knocks once before entering, smiling warmly at his colleagues and stepping aside to let Graves and Tina pass.

“Gentlemen - and ladies,” Tina says with a wink at her sister, “This is Percival Graves, our new history teacher.”

Eyes in the room turn towards him, and he smiles at them. “I look forward to working with all of you.”

“As do we, Mr. Graves,” a feminine voice says behind him, and it's all Graves can do not to jump in surprise. Madam Picquery enters the room, holding a stack of papers in her perfectly manicured hands and levels her eyes at him before staring him up and down. “I see you made efforts regarding your choice of clothing. Good. Did you have advice?”

“Yes, Madam Picquery.”

“Good. But where do the scorpion tie pins come from?”

“A family heirloom,” Graves says, mentally sending a thank you prayer to Grindelwald for helping him.

He sees Grindelwald’s satisfied smirk in the corner of his eyes, and Graves resolves to take him out or buy him something to properly thank him.

“Good choice,” Picquery says. “Right - do I have your attention?”

“Always, Director,” Grindelwald says smoothly. “You only need to walk into a room.”

“I know. Frankly, I have no idea why I keep getting stuck here with you - I should aim for President.”

“I'd vote for you,” a redheaded man at the back of the room says.

“Thank you, Mr. Scamander.” Graves can see her amusement, and he thinks that maybe he misjudged her - she looks to be on good terms with her colleagues.

“Here are the schedules. Mr. Graves, do you mind distributing them? This way you can start to learn the names of your colleagues.”

“Of course,” Graves agrees smoothly. He takes the stack of papers in his hands and starts walking around the room. The teachers give him their names as he passes and Graves searches through the stack until he finds the correct schedule. His own is at the very end of the pile, and Graves takes it apprehensively.

He works everyday from eight am to five pm, gets a few hours of free time in between some classes and doesn't teach on Friday afternoon. It could be worse.

“I trust you're all satisfied,” Picquery says. “Any complaints or changes that need to be made because of an _important_ reason, come see me in my office. We have students waiting. Let's go.”

Picquery turns around and walks into the corridor, and people's chairs rattle as they follow her. Tina smiles at him, and Graves feels relieved not to be left alone. Grindelwald is walking at the front with Picquery, speaking in hushed tones, and Graves remembers something about Grindelwald being her right hand man. Right. He probably won't have much time to spend with Graves - it's best if he gets to know the other teachers right away.

The theater is impressive, students chatting and babbling and suddenly quieting down as Picquery - and the rest of them - enter the room. She walks, confident, heels clacking on the floor as she makes her way to the stage. There's an empty row of seats at the front, and Graves imitates his colleagues as they sit down to listen to Picquery.

She adjusts the mic and starts to speak.

“Welcome for a new year at Illvermony,” she says. “If you're here, it's for a reason - you deserve to be. I trust you enjoyed your summer, but now it is time to work hard to make whoever you cherish proud, and prepare for graduation.”

She glides over the events of the year, the different clubs, the few changes made to the school during the summer, as well as the main rules of conduct both teachers and students need to follow.

“ - unless you wish to find yourself in my office,” she finishes. “Now, it is time that I introduce you to our staff, and when that is done you will step outside _quietly_ and join your respective classes. Ask old students if you do not know where they are. Your head teacher will join you shortly after you're all settled.” She waves a hand at Grindelwald and he stands up, the teachers imitating him. They take place behind Picquery in a neat line.

“You may have noticed a new face,” Picquery says over the microphone. “Albus Dumbledore having regretfully handed over his resignation letter last year, I now introduce you to Percival Graves, the new history teacher.”

Percival gives a tiny nod and locks his jaw, standing up straight.

Picquery calls the names of all of his colleagues as well as the name of their class if they are a head teacher, and before long the ceremony is over and the students rise up, making their ways to the exit.

“I'm head teacher!” Tina whispers excitedly. “God, I hope I'll be okay.”

“Congratulations,” Graves smiles. He follows Grindelwald with his eyes - the man is head teacher too, and Graves wants to go see how he will handle his class.

Tina leaves him to go chat with Newt. Grindelwald notices his staring and beckons him closer with a finger. Graves steps up to him, clearing his throat.

“What happened to the last history teacher?”

“He moved out,” Grindelwald replies shortly. He places his hand on Graves’ shoulder and leads him towards the exit. “Come. My senior year students are waiting. Unless you wish to wait in the staff room?”

“No, I'd love to go with you. I'm wondering whether the start of the year here is any different than my previous schools.”

“And what's your opinion so far?”

“It's more organized,” Graves jokes, “And the students seem more neat and respectful.”

Grindelwald nods even as they reach his classroom. They can hear laughter and chatter inside, and Grindelwald places his finger over his lips, playful as he looks at Graves.

“Now hush, lovely. Let me show you how to handle a class.”

Grindelwald opens the door and Graves follows, smiling.

 

\--------------------

 

Graves joins the rest of the staff in their destined room afterwards, leaving Grindelwald for a quick restroom break. He finds them chatting happily about their respective summer and hesitates as to who to join when Tina waves him over. Grindelwald is, surprisingly, absent, as well as Picquery.

Grave sits down at the same table as Tina, her sister and Mr. Scamander, and the rest of his morning is spent getting to know his colleagues. He likes them, and it gives him a good feeling for this school year, the nervousness ebbing away and giving way to joy and anticipation.

 

\--------------------

 

He gets a text on his first proper day of class as he drives to school, and it helps in making him a little less anxious.

 **_Gellert G:_ ** _You'll do great._

Graves arrives at school determined, confidence boosted, and gets through the day without difficulties.

 

\--------------------

 

Grindelwald finds Graves working later than he would like, shuffling futilely through papers in his classroom. It's not that Graves can't handle grading, he can. It's just been a long couple of weeks. Adjusting to a new place, getting to know his students, his colleagues, it's all taken its toll. Once he settles in he’ll manage, but for the moment all he wants is to fall into bed.

Grindelwald knocks on the half open door, and Graves looks up.

“It’s getting late,” Grindelwald says softly. “You should go home.”

“I know,” Graves says, rubbing at his eyes. His contact lenses hurt. “But I’ve still got a whole stack of papers to go through - if I organize myself right away, this school year will be easier.”

“And I admire and understand that, but your dedication won’t do any good if you fall asleep at your desk tomorrow,” Grindelwald says, crossing his arms. “Come on. You need a break. You can do this at home.”

“I’d probably just fall head first into bed,” Graves laughs and shakes his head. “It’s best if I stay here.”

“Stubborn.”

“Dedicated,” Graves corrects.

“Well,” Grindelwald shrugs nonchalantly, “As it happens, I don’t live far and I also have work to do. If you want, you could come over? It’s more fun to work with a colleague.”

Graves looks up in surprise. “You’re sure I wouldn’t bother you? Surely you have a family -”

“I don’t,” Grindelwald says. “Never been interested in one. So?”

“Well,” Graves hesitates. “If you’re sure I won’t bother -”

“If you did I wouldn’t have invited you. Come on, Percival,” Grindelwald smiles. “I even have cake.”

Graves laughs. “Well, if you have cake, how can I say no? You know the way to my heart.”

Grindelwald’s smile widens. “I’ll wait for you in my car - it’s the red one.”

“I’ll be there in a few minutes,” Graves acquiesces. Grindelwald nods and turns around, leaving the door open behind him. Graves picks up his papers, smiling softly and stifling a yawn behind his hand. He hopes Grindelwald has coffee.

 

\--------------------

 

After that first time, it becomes a habit for them to meet after class. They peer over their papers at the same table, laugh about things their students write when the first tests come into their hands, and tell each other about their respective days. Sometimes it gets late and they eat dinner together, and the conversation drifts to their lives. Grindelwald seems particularly interested in Graves’ story, even though Graves thinks he doesn’t have much to tell. He is equally fascinated by Grindelwald. The man’s mind is a sharp, brilliant thing, and Graves tries to keep up the best he can. Their conversations are light, interesting, intelligent; Graves cannot believe his luck in getting such a job and having found a friend such as Grindelwald so quickly.

Sometimes, Gellert flirts.

It’s not much at first, things that Graves could easily pretend he doesn’t see or mistake for something else, like friendly teasing or a need for physical contact. But after a while, he has to admit it even to himself - Grindelwald is clearly interested in Graves as more than a simple colleague or even friend, and Graves finds himself embarrassed.

He has nothing against Grindelwald, he’s a good man. A good friend. But that’s just it – he’s a friend and a colleague, and Graves doesn’t want to change that. It wouldn’t be appropriate with a colleague anyway, so it’s not something Graves should really need to consider that much.

But on top of that… he’s just moved. He’s in a new town with a new job, _trying_ to make new friends, and his friendship with Grindelwald is something he was coming to rely on as a point of stability. Something to keep him grounded until he settles in and his life isn’t in such flux anymore. He can’t imagine what starting a relationship would do to that, and he doesn’t want to introduce that element of uncertainty.

He tries to ignore the part of himself which brightens a little every time Grindelwald rests a hand on his arm, or compliments his clothes. There’s nothing really wrong with enjoying it, is there? It’s flattering in a way, to know how Grindelwald feels about him. And he doesn’t know how to bring it up without potentially losing a friend either, so if it doesn’t go farther he can’t see how there’s much harm. Surely Grindelwald knows that they have to keep to a level of professionalism, and even if Graves can’t deny anymore that he’s flirting he can’t believe the man would make too much out of it. There’s really no reason they can’t carry on being friends, not as far as Graves can see.

So he doesn’t speak out to stop it. And when Grindelwald rests a hand on his arm while they’re looking over papers side by side, he doesn’t stop that either. It doesn’t bother him exactly, and it’s not worth losing a friend over. If he’s honest with himself - which he tries to be as a general rule, but in this finds challenging - he likes the physical contact. It’s reassuring in a way, to know that someone is comfortable enough around him to reach out to him. He looks forward to evenings at Gellert’s house, the little comments he makes to try to get Graves to smile, and it feels good.

Perhaps at some point in the future, once Graves is more settled, more established, if their circumstances change, Graves would consider seeing what that might be like. But not now.

He trusts Grindelwald, and he trusts him not to take it too far.

 

\--------------------

 

The first time Grindelwald calls him “sweetheart” Graves wonders if it’s supposed to be a joke. He’s pouring over a stack of essays on the Great Depression in Grindelwald’s living room, determined to have them graded before morning. He’s already past the date he wanted to hand them back by, and he knows it’s not fair to ask his students to keep writing without giving them feedback on their work. He’s fairly certain he’s gone through an entire pot of coffee by himself, but fortunately Grindelwald spares him from keeping track. He’s just correcting a line claiming that one of the contributing factors to the stock market crash involved the exposure of an international secret society – where his students get these things from he has no idea – when Grindelwald’s voice breaks through his concentration.

“You work too hard, sweetheart.”

Graves rubs his eyes and looks up, caught off guard by the pet name and about to make some retort, but he pauses when he sees Grindelwald’s expression. He’s looking at Graves intently and there’s amusement playing around his lips, but somehow not of the type that could ever be confused with _joking_. It makes something spark through Graves’ body, and he finds he can’t hold Grindelwald’s gaze. He shuffles his papers around, suddenly uncertain.

“Yes, well, I doubt my students would agree. They think I have it easy.”

“Hmm. And yet you stay up all night grading papers at my house. So _dedicated._ ” Grindelwald makes the word sound filthy.

Graves checks his watch and what he sees startles him. It’s late, quite late, he hadn’t meant to stay this long. He feels bad for taking up so much of Grindelwald’s time, and he starts to apologize as he gathers up his papers.

“I’m sorry, the time got away from me. I’ll just -”

“Stay.” Grindelwald smiles. “Sweetheart.” And there it is again. Graves sinks back into his chair automatically, and he isn’t entirely sure why. The nickname is odd, and Graves doesn’t know how he feels about it. It’s not something one calls a colleague, it’s not exactly appropriate, but Graves doesn’t know how to say that. He isn’t sure if he wants to say it, and he doesn’t want to make it a big deal. Not to mention, there’s something about the way it rolls off Grindelwald’s tongue that makes Graves think he might like to hear it again.

But that - that is definitely too far. It’s something neither he nor Grindelwald should allow to happen. They’re both grown men, they should know better.

Graves shakes his head. “Gellert, it really is late. I should go, I’ve finished everything urgent.”

“I’m not sure you have,” Grindelwald murmurs. Or at least Graves thinks that’s what he says, and there’s a good part of him, a sensible part, which hopes he’s wrong.

“Well,” Grindelwald says, at a more conversational pitch, “I haven’t. I’ve been putting off grading these labs, it’s a dreadful chore. I’m not sure I could manage without you to decipher some of these scrawls. Do they still teach handwriting in school?”

Despite himself Graves chuckles, both at Grindelwald’s words and his put out expression. “One more cup of coffee,” he says warningly. “Then I’m leaving before I fall asleep on your couch.”

“That’s all I ask of you tonight,” Grindelwald says, rising to refill Graves’ cup. “Though I assure you, the _couch_ is quite comfortable.”

One cup of coffee turns into two, and by the time Grindelwald is through Graves is exhausted, head aching and nerves buzzing with that peculiar state of too much coffee and not enough sleep. Graves drags a hand over his eyes and shuffles his papers together, not looking forward to the drive home. He clicks his briefcase closed, thinking longingly of his bed and a bit despairingly about how little time he’ll get to enjoy it before he has to ready himself for work in the morning. He’s tired enough that he doesn’t notice at first when Grindelwald leaves off tidying the room to stand behind him. He looks up in surprise when Grindelwald’s hands fall on his shoulders.

“Relax, sweetheart.” Grindelwald presses his thumbs into the muscle of Graves’ shoulders, tight after a day of pouring over papers.

It’s briefly tempting to lean into it, to let Grindelwald massage away the soreness in his muscles, but there is no question about what that would signal. At least _one_ of them has to be willing to draw boundaries here.

Graves stands, pulling away from Grindelwald’s hands and picking up his briefcase.

“I insist, Gellert, I’m tired. I’ve already taken up too much of your night.”

Graves could swear he sees something in Grindelwald’s expression darken, and he turns away towards the door.

Grindelwald lets him go, though Graves can tell he’s less than pleased. But it really is late, Graves really is tired, and this really is going too far.

Grindelwald backs off a little in the days that follow, but by no means does he stop. Graves doesn’t know what to do. He’s let it go on for so long that he doesn’t know how to stop it now, and Grindelwald is clearly not picking up on his hints. He feels partly responsible for it; perhaps if he’d been clearer at the beginning they wouldn’t be in this awkward situation now.

He avoids Grindelwald’s house, pretending he has medical appointments, but he knows Grindelwald sees through his lies clear as day. On a day where he has too much work he ends up finding his familiar way towards Grindelwald’s house where he is welcomed with open arms. He needs the little boost in confidence that Grindelwald’s murmured praise and encouragements give him.

They end up eating dinner together again. Grindelwald opens a bottle of wine, and after one drink to accompany the red meat Graves feels pleasantly warm.

The conversation subtly drifts towards Graves’ past relations and experiences, and he doesn’t feel quite comfortable with the direction but not replying to Grindelwald’s questions would be rude and Graves doesn’t know how to make the conversation go back to safer waters. So he answers honestly.

“So no relationships?” Grindelwald asks as he refills their glasses. “In three years?”

“None,” Graves confirms with a short, self deprecating laugh.

“A man like you.” Grindelwald smiles at him above the edge of his glass, the red liquid sloshing lazily beneath his fingers. “I have to say I am surprised. And lucky.”

Grindelwald’s foot nudges Graves’ right ankle under the table, and ah - there it is. Graves freezes and swallows, looking away.

Possibly mistaking his reaction for arousal, Grindelwald gets up slowly and walks around the table until he’s resting behind Graves, hands upon his shoulders, replicating his movements from some nights ago.

But this time Grindelwald leans in, breath hot against Graves’ ear and a hint of teeth barely teasing at his earlobe as he whispers, “I have waited for this moment, Mr. Graves.”

His hands travel up Graves’ front, deft fingers starting to slip under the knot of Graves’ tie to undo it when Graves grabs his wrists in an iron grip.

“No.”

“No?” Grindelwald repeats. “You’ve encouraged me.”

Graves doesn’t have anything to reply to that - he knows he did. By not stopping Grindelwald’s advances earlier. But now that it’s real, that’s it’s here - he doesn’t want it. Not so soon. Not like this.

“I don’t want to,” he says aloud. Grindelwald clicks his tongue, trying to free his hands from Graves’ grip.

“Why not? Both you and I could benefit from this -”

“No is an answer on its own, Gellert. I don’t have to justify myself -”

“- and I guarantee you, you will find it the more pleasant option.”

Graves blinks, off balance at Grindelwald’s… was that a threat? Or an enticement? Either way, it doesn’t change his answer.

“You’re quite the interesting man, Mr. Graves,” Grindelwald continues. “You accept my help, my friendship, my company, and yet suddenly…” Grindelwald stops trying to free himself from Graves’ grip and instead leans closer, pressing his hands over Graves’ chest. “you go _cold._ May I assume you’ve lost interest in the other aspects of our relationship as well?”

Graves lets go of Grindelwald as though scalded, standing to bring himself to an equal level with the man.

“Gellert, I value our friendship. I enjoy the time we spend together, I do, I don’t know what I’d have done without your help these past months -”

“Neither do I.”

“- But I don’t want this. Not right now, I’m sorry.”

Grindelwald advances towards him again and Graves falls back, moving to put the table between them.

“That’s not the impression you gave me.”

Graves shakes his head. “I know, and Gellert, I’m sorry. I never should have let this go so far.”

“Yet you did,” Grindelwald says softly. “What does that say about you?”

“That I have the right to change my mind,” Graves says louder.

“You're playing a dangerous game, Percival,” Grindelwald says, eyes narrowing.

Graves shakes his head, frustrated and at a loss. “I’m not playing any games with you, I wouldn’t do that. I’m just trying to come to an understanding.”

“Oh, but it is a game, and I think you ought to be very, very careful of your next move.”

“Gellert, I… I think I should go.” Something glints in Grindelwald’s eye as Graves hastily gathers his things, and Graves has the sinking, uneasy feeling that this move is considered _wrong_. But he doesn’t know what to do other than remove himself from the situation. It’s just getting worse and he doesn’t know how to deescalate it.

He doesn’t know what Grindelwald might do.

As soon as he steps into the hallway Grindelwald is there, backing him against the wall and holding him there, a hand on his shoulder and on his hip, trapping him. Alarm shoots through Graves and he raises his hands to Grindelwald’s chest, trying to keep some distance between them, ready to shove Grindelwald backwards.

Grindelwald is much closer than is comfortable, but he doesn’t press into Graves in the way he expects. Graves’ breath is caught in his chest, painfully sharp. The moment doesn’t see to move, the hallway silent.

“Won’t you thank me for the wine?” Grindelwald breathes against his cheek.

Graves’ throat is tight, his mouth dry.

“Thank you, Gellert,” he grits out. “For the wine.”

Grindelwald releases him, stepping back, and watches him go without another word. Graves glances to him one last time, and the dark, calculating look he gives makes Graves shiver.

Graves is shaking by the time he gets to his car. He should never have gone back to Grindelwald’s house. He should never have let any of this happen. He locks the doors and sits gripping the steering wheel for a moment, trying to steady himself, before he turns the ignition. _What happened in there?_

This was why he didn’t want to say anything earlier, he had no way to know how Grindelwald might react. But at the same time, he knows, concern over a bad reaction is exactly what provoked it. If he had only spoken up sooner… this is his fault, and he knows it.

He can only hope that after the space of the weekend Grindelwald will come to accept his refusal.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kallistob : hellooOOOOOOO HERE COMES A SUPER LONG CHAPTER AND HALF OF IT IS PORN :DDD HAVE A GOOD TIME AND PLS LEAVE A COMMENT ILY !! <33

 

* * *

 

“Our time together is coming to an end,” Grindelwald sighs regretfully on Monday morning, in such a dramatic fashion that it makes a few students giggle. “What class do you have after?”

“History, sir,” a young girl in the front row, Mary, chimes in. Grindelwald goes still.

“With Mr. Graves?”

“Yeah.”

The corners of Grindelwald’s lips slowly turn up into a smile. “Perfect. Did you know that it’s Mr. Graves’ birthday next week?” He gets a few negative responses, and smirks wider. “And he’s been working so _hard_ since the beginning of the school year, that I can’t help but want to make him laugh. Play a little prank on him. The man needs to liven up a little, don’t you agree?”

Carefully a couple of students nod, and the agreement spreads through the room. “Good. Now I need all of you to play along - no spoiling the joke before his birthday, it wouldn’t do to ruin our little reveal.  Here’s what you’re going to do.”

 

\------------------------------------

 

When Graves arrives, he immediately notices the weird atmosphere in the classroom, a buzzing sort of tension that he does his best to ignore as he sets his briefcase on the table and opens the latches. He greets the class and starts to recite today’s lesson plan when someone interrupts him.

“Excuse me, sir,” Mary asks. “May I ask when we are going to get back our tests on the Reconstruction?”

Graves frowns. “I graded and gave those to you just last week.”

Mary shakes her head negatively, and a few students follow her. “You didn’t, sir. We were starting to wonder if maybe you lost them? I thought I did pretty good on it, I’d like to have the feedback…”

“But -” Graves stutters, lost. He distinctly remembers giving the tests back to them last Wednesday, he didn’t imagine that. He lost sleep over it _because_ he wanted to give them back on time, for Christ’s sake. Unless the lack of sleep is getting to him? Did he give them the tests from another class? But they’d have told him, right? “- But I remember giving them to you,” he insists. “I even remember your grade, Miss Johnson. You had an 85, which is very good.”

“No, sir,” she says, something like pity in her eyes. “That was the grade for my test on the Civil War.”

“I don’t understand,” Graves says, then tries to regain some semblance of control even though his mind keeps replaying the image of him, clutching a coffee cup in his hand, glasses up his nose as he squints at the tiny scrawls of Mary’s writings outlining the Reconstruction. “Listen, I’ll - I’ll look for them. In the meantime, could we please concentrate on today’s lesson? We lost over ten minutes already.”

The class is sluggish as they take out their textbooks, and Graves rakes a hand through his hair. It’s going to be a long day.

 

\------------------------------------

 

Things only get worse at lunch. Graves retreats to the staff room, still unable to shake the picture of Mary’s test - he _had_ graded it, how had he not handed it back? - and he’s looking forward to a much needed moment’s rest.

What he does not need, and did not anticipate, is to be confronted with the irritated and indignant gaze of Seraphina the moment he steps through the door. He pauses, taken aback and mentally scrambling to figure out what he could have done to deserve such a look. It flashes through his mind that perhaps she heard about the missing tests, but that is absolutely ridiculous.

“Well Mr. Graves,” Seraphina says, approaching him. “I am sorry your time with us isn’t more… _satisfactory_.” Her tone is short and clipped, and Graves has no idea what’s going on.

“I’m sorry, Madam?”

“I took a chance on hiring you. If Ilvermorny isn’t to your liking, well. At least do the children the decency of remembering your contract extends to the end of the school year.” She sweeps past him to the door, leaving Graves to stand in shock. He’d been settling in. He liked it here. He’d thought Seraphina was finally starting to see his value.

He sinks into a chair, any hope of a restful lunch gone, carried out the door with Seraphina’s disappointment and hostility.

 

\------------------------------------

 

At the end of the day Graves is exhausted. He still doesn’t comprehend what happened to him - first the missing tests, then Seraphina’s coldness. He doesn’t get it. What did he do wrong?

He’s just leaving the staff room, the last one to do so, when the door creaks open and Grindelwald steps in. Graves freezes. His last encounter with the teacher didn’t go so well, and suddenly he gets the absurd thought that maybe Grindelwald is responsible for his shitty day. But Grindelwald wouldn’t be that kind of man, even if - even if Graves rejected him. And how would he do it, anyway?

“Mr. Graves,” Grindelwald murmurs. “I heard Madam Picquery is quite crossed with you.”

“Yes,” Graves says, just as quietly. “I don’t understand why.”

“Neither do I,” Grindelwald says, inclining his head. “But maybe you’d do well to remember that the only reason you’re here is because I spoke in your favor. She would never have hired you otherwise, and I think you know it. I gave you a chance, Mr. Graves.”

“I know, Gellert, and I’m grateful -”

“Good night, Mr. Graves.”

Grindelwald turns on his heel and leaves the room, switching off the light as he does so. Graves is left behind in the darkness, and he feels utterly empty.

 

\------------------------------------

 

Graves has a sick, sinking feeling in his stomach as he drives to work the next morning. He does his best to ignore it, but he can’t completely push from his mind the idea that today may be just as bad as the day before. Grindelwald’s words keep playing through his head on repeat, and he doesn’t want to believe the man would do such a thing, but he doesn’t know what else to think.

Perhaps today _will_ be better, he thinks optimistically. Perhaps Grindelwald has gotten his satisfaction. Perhaps.

He refuses to think about the fact that even were that the case, he has more than likely still lost the only real friend he’d managed to make so far.

He walks into the staff room with as much confidence as he can come up with, determined not to let himself get discouraged preemptively, before he even has any idea how the day will go. He has time before his first class, so he takes a seat at his usual table and spreads out the papers he has yet to grade in front of him. He’s yet to find the missing tests, and it’s made worse by the fact that he can’t figure out whether to take the claim seriously. Could Grindelwald really turn his whole class against him? They’re good kids. But never mind, he’ll deal with that question later. He shakes his head, trying to keep himself in the present moment.

The staff room fills up around him over the next few minutes as his fellow teachers arrive. Picquery seems to have decided not to make an appearance this morning, for which Graves is quietly grateful. Grindelwald walks in holding a cup of coffee and Graves’ chest tightens, unsure what to expect. But to his surprise Grindelwald makes no move towards him, drifting over to join Abernathy and Queenie’s conversation on Graves’ left. The lack of any sort of acknowledgement stings, but it’s better than the dangerous coldness of last night.

“Percival, good morning,” Newt greets him brightly, and Graves turns to face him, relieved that someone, at least, is still friendly towards him.

“Newt. Any luck getting your students interested in Mendelian genetics?”

Newt sighs and shakes his head. “They do get the mechanics of it, but most of them don’t take it farther. They don’t have the drive to understand how living creatures work, which is the really interesting part.”

Graves nods sympathetically. “I know, I have the same problem in my classes. They learn the dates, but they don’t connect them to what makes events happen. This last assignment -” Graves gestures to the papers laid out on the table, and he startles as the back of his hand hits something. The next thing he knows there’s dark brown liquid everywhere; flooding across the table, soaking the papers, spilling onto his pants. He hisses in surprise and pain as the hot coffee hits him, standing up abruptly and bringing him face to face with Grindelwald. Grindelwald, whom he hadn’t realized was standing behind him.

“Oh dear, that’s quite a mess.”

Graves wonders if Grindelwald could possibly sound sincere to anybody else in the room. Grindelwald reaches out unhurriedly and picks up the overturned cup, glancing inside as though curious about its contents. It’s far too late. It had no lid, and from the look of it was practically full. “I wasn’t done with that.”

“Then why did you set it down?” Graves asks, scrambling to save as much of his students’ work as he can, moving papers out of the way of the flow of coffee and separating the rapidly disintegrating sheets.

“Should I not have?” Grindelwald sounds just puzzled and regretful enough that yes, to anyone else listening, he could very well sound sincere.

“No, just - I -” Graves shakes his head, looking down at the mess before him. “I’m sorry, I’ll… I’ll clean this up, let me just - Newt, could you hand me some napkins?”

Newt does and Graves does his best to mop up the mess, his optimism for the day gone.

Graves is tense for the rest of the day, on guard against… he doesn’t even know what. Following the current trend he’s certain something is going to come make a mess of his day, and he’s hyper alert for any sign of it.

But the rest of the day is quiet. There’s no more unexplained coldness, no more coffee, and he leaves that evening without further incident. He lets himself breathe just slightly easier, feeling the tension start to leave his muscles.

 

\------------------------------------

 

When Wednesday rolls around Graves is determined not to let anything else affect him. He squares his shoulders, clutches his briefcase, and enters the school. He takes his coffee black, greets his colleagues, ignores Grindelwald beyond a simple greeting and walks to his first class. He is efficient, dynamic, straight forward, and manages to captivate his students. He can’t help but feel a little proud at this accomplishment.

When his watch indicates eleven am Graves excuses himself from his class, as he has a staff meeting. He gives his students exercises to complete as they wait for him - it’s a two hour period - grabs his briefcase and walks to the classroom in which the meeting is taking place.

Only to stop short when every single one of his colleagues turn to look at him as he enters, disapproval clear on their faces. Picquery’s gaze is cold as she drawls, “Mr. Graves. How _nice_ of you to finally grace us with your presence.”

Graves takes in the various papers on the table, the empty cups of coffee in front of Abernathy and Newt.

“I don’t understand,” he says slowly. “The staff meeting -”

“Started an hour ago, Mr. Graves,” Picquery cuts in, her gaze razor sharp, her voice slicing the air. “Surely you knew the time and date. I trust Gellert gave you the proper information, as he evidently did everyone else. All of your _colleagues_ were on time. If you’re not taking this position seriously, you might as well hand over your resignation letter.”

“I don’t - I thought…” He looks at Grindelwald, helpless. Graves had believed him. He’d written the time down in his calendar. He had his papers ready for the meeting. He was _trying_.

He feels himself tearing up and blinks furiously.

“Excuse me,” he manages and leaves the room, closing the door behind him. He drops his briefcase on the floor and leans his forehead against the cold wall of the corridor. A few tears escape him as Graves closes his eyes, and he lets them fall.

He takes a few deep breaths to calm himself. Running away would be the worst kind of decision he could make. He doesn’t want to go back in this room, to face his colleagues again, their severe or pitying looks, but he has to. At least now he knows why his week is awful - Grindelwald hasn’t gotten over being rejected. But Graves will _not_ give in.

Gritting his teeth, Graves wipes his eyes with the back of his hand, braces himself, and walks back inside the room. Even if there’s only thirty minutes left. Even if they’ve gone over all the important points already. He is a part of this team, damn it, and no matter what Picquery says, he is not the type of man to crack and resign.

He glares at Grindelwald as he sits down, ignores his colleagues’ stares, takes out a pen and paper, and looks at Picquery intently. She sniffs at him but resumes her sentence, and Graves listens, concentrates, and tries not to drown in his own mind.

 

\------------------------------------

 

Tina looks at Graves’ back as he leaves the staff meeting looking ready to crack, and she feels a twinge of compassion for the man. Graves is clearly out of his element in this school, but as far as Tina can see he makes efforts. He’s on time, dressed to the nines, always polite and encouraging, and every time she sees him he has his nose buried in his student’s work. He seems to do his best, he looks like a good man, and she doesn’t understand why Picquery is so cold with him.

She’d been on the receiving end of Picquery’s ire once, and she cannot imagine what it must be like on a daily basis. She resolves to try to talk to him face to face when she has the time, let him know he’s not alone at least.

It’s the afternoon break when she finds herself in the staff room again. Only Grindelwald is there, buying himself a much needed coffee, and Tina salutes him before dropping down into a chair.

“Hard day?” Grindelwald asks, and Tina grimaces. “Courage, Tina. There’s only two days left before the weekend.”

“I know. Hey, wanna buy me one of those? I’m too tired to get up again.”

Grindelwald rolls his eyes but he does pay for her coffee before sitting down in front of her.

“I wonder if Graves is okay,” Tina says quietly.

“Probably not,” Grindelwald says. “Picquery’s crossed with him.”

“I don’t understand why,” Tina says, chewing on her bottom lip. “He seems like a nice man.”

Grindelwald narrows his eyes. He looks as though he has something to say, but might be thinking better of it. Tina gives him a probing look.

“You do know that he is interested in you, right?”

Tina looks at him, caught off guard. “What?”

“Told me himself. I guess he’s too shy to make the first move, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t fantasize about your cute little ass. His words.”

“But - I’m with -”

“Newt, I know,” Grindelwald inclines his head. “Doesn’t bother him, apparently.”

Tina sips at her coffee, adjusting slightly in her seat. Had Graves really said that? She can’t picture it, but he’s a lot closer to Grindelwald than to her. She isn’t sure what to do about it. He hasn’t done anything objectionable in front of her, as uncomfortable as it makes her, so she supposes bringing it up would only make things more awkward. But all the same, she doesn’t want him to get the wrong idea. If he doesn’t respect her relationship with Newt, there’s no telling how he’ll interpret what she says. So perhaps she’d better keep her distance, at least for now.

She sighs, looking back up at Grindelwald. “Well, I suppose I’m glad to know.”

“Of course.” He smiles at her, sympathetic, then shakes his head. “I wish I didn’t have to be the bearer of bad news.”

“It’s fine,” she says. “I’m glad you told me. You’re a good friend, Gellert.”

 

_\------------------------------------_

 

Graves just wants to get himself through the day on Thursday. It’s almost the weekend, and then he’ll have two days to get his head together, to figure out what to do about this whole mess. Picquery can’t actually fire him for being late to one staff meeting, and as cutting as her disapproval is, she’s only one person. If he can just make it to the weekend he’ll be all right. He will. He’ll talk to people who don’t have it out for him, he won’t trust a word Grindelwald says, and he’ll be all right.

On his cigarette break he asks Tina if she wants to come with him, but she looks strangely wary as she shakes her head and says no. Puzzled, Graves nods and steps outside alone. Tina always accompanied him before, and he likes her as a colleague. She’s funny and quick witted. He could have used her company today, when it feels like the rest of his life is falling apart.

His cigarette consumption is increasing too. Graves grimaces as he stomps on the cigarette end before going back inside. He tries to talk to Newt later during the day, but the man is cold with him. Is this all from missing the staff meeting? It can’t possibly be, they wouldn’t hold that against him like this. He would ask them, if either one would make eye contact. No, he thinks tiredly, this must be Gellert’s doing.

It’s Abernathy then, if he wants company today. The man is nice - a bit insecure, but people seem to love him. Graves hasn’t really talked to him much so far, but he’s got nothing to lose. He finds him in the staff room at lunch, and gestures towards the empty chair at his table questioningly. Abernathy waves at him to take the seat, and Graves gives a small sigh of relief that Grindelwald hasn’t gotten to him too.

He remembers Queenie mentioning Abernathy had kids, so he figures asking the younger man about his family is a fairly safe and easy topic of conversation. Abernathy’s face lights up when he does, immediately telling him all about how his little girl just won her first soccer game, and he couldn’t be more proud.

Abernathy’s enthusiasm is contagious, and before long he has Graves smiling as well. It feels so good to talk about anything, anything at all, other than work, and Abernathy’s daughter really does sound adorable. The man keeps gushing, even taking out his phone to show Graves pictures of his daughter and his wife, and Graves chuckles.

The sound dies in his throat when Grindelwald sits down on Abernathy’s other side. Abernathy doesn’t notice his change in expression, too caught up in talking about his family to think of much else, apparently.

“Did I hear that right, James,” Grindelwald asks, “your daughter won her first game?”

“That’s right!” Abernathy is the very picture of a proud father. “She even scored a goal.”

“Wonderful,” Grindelwald says appreciatively, and Graves’ heart sinks when Grindelwald’s gaze turns to meet his. “Very kind of Mr. Graves here to listen. I didn’t know you liked children.”

Abernathy turns to look at him, a question hanging in his eyes, and Graves can see Grindelwald’s smugness, his satisfaction, in the set of his lips. Graves clenches his jaw. He can fix this. This one, at least. He can fix it.

“Actually, I don’t -”

“I know, so polite of you to stay and listen anyway.  I always have said you’re a courteous man.”

Abernathy’s face falls.

“I don’t have any problem with children!” Graves protests, but he can see in Abernathy’s hurt expression that his denial sounds hollow. _Fuck_.

“Oh. Well. I’m sorry I wasted your time, Mr. Graves. I’ll just - I’ll be getting to class.”

Graves gets one last look at the bright, smiling face of Abernathy’s little girl before he turns off and pockets his phone, leaving the staff room hastily. Leaving Graves sitting across from Grindelwald, alone.

Graves wants to strangle him. He wants to demand of him _why_ and _stop_ and _fix this, you bastard._ But he doesn’t. He tells himself it’s because he doesn’t want to give Grindelwald the satisfaction.

“Well, Percival -”

“Don’t call me that,” Graves snaps. “We were friends, Gellert, what is this?”

“Would you prefer I call you…” Grindelwald looks him up and down, and there is something cruel in his gaze. Something predatory. “Pet?”

“What - _No!_ ” Graves leans back in his chair, away from Grindelwald, away from this entire mess. How did his life become this?

“Ah, well.” Grindelwald shakes his head, as though considering something unfortunate, but which can’t be helped. “I would suggest you consider your actions very carefully, Mr. Graves. I doubt Seraphina will have patience for you much longer. And Mr. Graves -” Grindelwald stands, placing his hands on the table and leaning forward, just far enough into Graves’ space to make him lean back. “I took quite a risk recommending we hire you. There’s only so much longer I can continue to voice my support to Seraphina.”

Grindelwald leaves him sitting there, and Graves is so lost in anger, frustration, and helplessness that he doesn’t hear the bell ring. He’s late to his next class.

 

\------------------------------------

 

Graves can’t tell anymore what are his mistakes and what is due to Grindelwald. He questions every move he makes - is it playing into Grindelwald’s game? Does it leave him an opening? He doubts everything from whether he really did misplace his pen to the questions his students bring to him about how they graded their papers. He hates it. It’s exhausting and it’s terrifying, never knowing if he can trust himself or not.

Only one more day, he tells himself Friday morning. One day to get through until the weekend. But the more he says it, the less he believes it will make a difference. This isn’t going to end.

Newt finds him that afternoon, and Graves looks up at him in surprise. Maybe he’ll finally get a chance to figure out what it was Grindelwald did, and to make things right.

“Newt, it’s good to see you. I’ve been wanting to -”

“Picquery wants to see you,” Newt interrupts, looking just past Graves’ right shoulder.

“Oh. All right, thank you.” Graves hesitates, and when Newt doesn’t say anything more he continues. “Does she want to see me now?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“All right,” Graves says again. Newt seems to have said all he wanted to, so Graves heads in the direction of Picquery’s office. He was expecting something like this, but he’s not looking forward to it. He tries to rehearse what he’ll say, mentally cycling through ways to convince her to give him a chance - another chance - and to argue for his position.

Queenie isn’t at her desk so he knocks on Picquery’s door, forcing himself not to hesitate.

“Enter,” he hears her call.

He swings the door open and steps inside, as Picquery looks up from her desk and raises one eyebrow at him in a perfect look of expectant surprise.

“Is there something I can do for you, Mr. Graves?”

Graves takes in her expression and he suddenly has the horrible, crawling feeling that Picquery never wanted to see him at all. He forces himself to take a breath. “I thought you wanted to see me, Madam.”

“Mr. Graves,” Picquery sighs, waving her hand in the air in a gesture of dismissive frustration. “I am a very busy woman. If I want to see you I will be certain to inform you, and if you would like to see me, you may make an appointment. Do you understand?”

“Yes Madam.”

Picquery gives him another dismissive wave and he backs out of the room, closing the door.

Graves stands in the outer office for a long moment, trying to get a grip on himself. What is he supposed to do? If Seraphina does want to see him, then not going is just as risky as showing up when he’s not wanted. He wonders despairingly how he’s supposed to tell which is which, before he realizes that’s the point. He can’t. When he realizes his hands are shaking he shoves them in his pockets.

He just has to get through the rest of the day. That’s all. Then he can go home.

When the bell finally rings to signal the end of his last class Graves sighs in relief, even more glad for the end of the school day than his students are. He needs to go home, he needs to be out of this place. He collects his things into his briefcase, reaches for his car keys, and… doesn't find them. He pauses. He had them this morning, he drove here after all. And he put them in his briefcase, as always. Didn't he? He rifles through it, searching in case they ended up in the wrong spot. Then he pats down his pockets, because it's not unreasonable that he would slip them into a pocket without thinking about it, particularly if he was distracted by something. He casts his eyes around the classroom because now this is getting ridiculous, he just wants to go _home_.

Graves snaps his briefcase shut and heads back to the staff room, the only other place he could conceivably have left them. There are still a few other people around, no one else in any greater hurry to leave than is usual for a Friday. The table he sat at earlier is bare, and he stands in the middle of the room trying to figure out where else to look. He's attracting attention. Tina and Newt, Queenie. Grindelwald. Graves looks at him and Grindelwald looks back, giving nothing away.

“What have you done?” he hears himself asking, tone accusing and almost frantic. Grindelwald shakes his head, looking to Tina questioningly, as though checking to see whether she can explain Graves’ behavior.

“Percival?” Queenie asks tentatively, taking a few steps towards him. “Are you all right? What's wrong?”

“My keys,” he says, hating the edge of desperation in his voice. “I can't find my keys.”

She hesitates for a moment, glancing between him and Grindelwald as though wondering what Graves’ accusation has to do with it. “Well,” she says, rallying, “come on, I'll help you look. Where was the last place you had them?”

“My briefcase,” Graves says, dropping it onto the table and throwing it open, pulling his papers out of it haphazardly and scattering them across the table.

“And then where?” Queenie prompts.

“And then nowhere!” Graves throws his hands up in frustration, staring at his empty briefcase and feeling as though he's going insane. “They were _here,_ where they _should be_ , that's where I left them.”

“It's all right Percival,” Queenie tries. “Everybody loses their keys sometimes.”

“I didn't lose them!” Graves turns, wheeling on her, and she takes a couple steps back looking alarmed. “I had them, Queenie! Telling me I lost them isn't helping.”

Queenie looks at him, seemingly lost for anything else to offer and her brow crinkling in confusion. “Then what are you saying happened?”

Graves presses the heel of his hand to his temple. It's all too much. He can't do this, not now. He can't imagine how he must look to them all, raving about something as simple as missing keys, and he knows he needs to calm down but he can't. “Ask Gellert - or should I say _Mr. Grindelwald._ ”

“Percival…” Queenie shakes her head, biting her lip. “Gellert didn’t take your keys. That’s ridiculous.”

“I know it is, Queenie! I know it is.” She steps back from him, and he can see it in her eyes that she has nothing else to offer him. Grindelwald didn’t even need to say a word. Graves burned that bridge himself.

“Mr. Graves,” Grindelwald interjects smoothly. “Why don’t I give you a ride, I’m just heading out. I’m not sure you’re in a fit state to drive anyway.” Grindelwald smiles and reaches out to rest a hand on his upper arm. Graves jerks back as though scalded by the touch.

“Don’t _touch_ me. Don’t, I’ll - I’ll call a cab.”

“Are you _sure?_ Think about your decision, Mr. Graves.”

“I’m sure.” Graves throws his papers back into his briefcase, never minding the ones that wrinkle. “I am _quite_ sure.”

He waits for the taxi outside, unable to bear the company of other people. Certainly unable to bear the way they look at him with concern and alarm. He’s an _idiot_ , he must have played right into Grindelwald’s hand. He made himself look like a lunatic, and he supposes he should count himself lucky Seraphina wasn’t there or he’d probably be out of a job right now.

When the cab pulls up at his flat he fishes the spare key to his front door out from where it’s hidden under the step. He’s glad to be home, but there’s no sense of relief when he walks through the door. He knows this isn’t going to stop. He sits down heavily on the sofa in his living room, leaving most of the lights off.

He thinks about quitting that night. About writing out his resignation and leaving it for Seraphina to find on Monday morning and never setting foot in that school again. But it’s a fantasy. He could never find another position in the middle of the school year, and he can’t afford the months without a job. Who would hire him, anyway? All the schools he applied to previously, before withdrawing from their consideration to go to Ilvermorny? He can’t imagine how he would explain that in an interview. No, he can’t quit.

Besides - before this week, before all of this, whatever this is - he liked it here.

There’s a point as he lays awake in bed, sleepless, unable to find the rest he craves, when he wonders what exactly would be so bad about giving Grindelwald what he wants. He may hate the man now, but he didn’t always. Grindelwald had been a friend. Someone he trusted. Someone not unattractive. Graves owes him so much. He’s making more money than he ever has in his life, at one of the best schools in the country, and it’s thanks to Grindelwald.

And Grindelwald can make all this stop.

Sweetheart, Grindelwald had called him. Pet. The names make something stir inside Graves. Something he didn’t want and never asked for, but there all the same. He drifts into a restless sleep that way, tossing and turning for the remainder of the night.

 

\------------------------------------

 

Graves lasts two more weeks before he gives in. Questioning his students’ sincerity, his colleagues utterly ignoring or avoiding him, Grindelwald taunting him, and Madam Picquery threatening to fire him is the last straw. He climbs into his car on Saturday evening, sets the GPS towards Grindelwald’s address, and drives. He is utterly seething at Grindelwald’s immature attitude, and he cannot believe the other man manages to get away with it. He cannot believe that he can do nothing to stop it other than -

He parks, almost runs to the door and slams his fist on the doorbell. He hears the shrill sound resonate in the house and doesn’t let go until he hears rapid footsteps coming his way and sees a silhouette behind the door. Grindelwald glares at him as he opens the door, but his expression melts into one of surprise and then delight once he sees Graves is the one visiting him.

“Percival!” He says, cheerful. “Please. Come in.”

“We need to talk, Gellert,” Graves says, clenching his fists inside his coat pocket.

“But of course. Do you want anything? Tea, coffee, chocolate?”

“No, thank you -”

“I insist,” Grindelwald says, forceful. “What kind of host would I be if I didn’t welcome you properly?”

Graves grits his teeth. “Tea.”

Grindelwald nods and accompanies him to the living room. Graves slumps down on the sofa and lets his eyes drift around the familiar room while Grindelwald is fetching drinks. The man comes back whistling, pours the hot water into two cups, adds one sugar in Graves’ just the way he likes it, and settles down next to Graves on the sofa. Graves tenses.

“So,” Grindelwald says, sipping at his tea. “Why are you here?”

“To make you _stop_ , Gellert! This is ridiculous - if you can’t handle rejection, you need to see a psychologist, for Christ’s sake. Not torment me as if _I_ was making a mistake.”

“Oh, I have no problems handling rejection, Mr. Graves. Only, you see - I want you. And I always get what I want,” he says, eyes dark. “Give in and I will stop. Don’t and it will only get worse. You already look like a mess, and not in a good way - I can’t imagine the state of you in one month. Now,” Grindelwald sets his cup down on the table and steeples his fingers under his chin as he looks at Graves. “ _This_... Isn’t difficult. You don’t have to make it so. In fact, I am quite sure that once you’ve accepted your situation for what it is… You will learn to love it. Crave it. Even beg for it.” Grindelwald sounds assured, the last words almost a purr on his tongue. Graves scoffs disbelievingly and clutches the teacup harder.

“I would never beg _you_.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, pet,” Grindelwald hums.

“Don’t call me that,” Graves insists. “I came here to bargain. Because I want to find another way to end this - this situation.”

Grindelwald shakes his head, tutting. “There is no other way, Mr. Graves. I just told you my terms and conditions. They haven’t changed. Nor will they in one week, one month or one year. It is now your choice to either suffer or let go and trust me. Believe me,” Grindelwald leans closer to Graves, taking Graves’ hand in his and squeezing softly. “I can make your life _hell_. You cannot even _begin_ to measure my influence here, Mr. Graves. Not only at Ilvermony, but in this city. Contrary to you, I have power and know how to use it. If anything, you should feel flattered that I’ve decided to pick you for my entertainment.”

And the worst thing is, Graves believes him. Grindelwald’s words do not sound like an empty threat. His eyes are cold, steel; his posture unmovable. A predator, darkness lurking under the surface of his skin. Graves can feel it. And he doesn’t know what to do. Should he open the door to a wolf?

“We can try, Mr. Graves. If you do not beg, I’ll let you go. If you do… You’re mine. For however long I decide.”

Grindelwald’s words send a chill shooting down his spine. _You’re mine._ A part of him is repulsed, but another part… he doesn’t know. He shouldn’t make a bargain like this. He shouldn’t give in to Grindelwald at all. If he does, where will it end? He shouldn’t even be needing to do this. No sane, balanced person would ask of him what Grindelwald is asking now.

But Grindelwald is right. What will happen to him in a month, in two months? What new torments will Grindelwald invent? He’s a creative man. Graves had once admired that about him.

Considering Grindelwald’s deal feels like teetering on the edge on an abyss, hoping it won’t consume him. Graves can only imagine how Grindelwald would apply his creativity to _this_.

But Graves - Graves is a well grounded man. He is possessed of self control, self respect, and this is already a step better than either unconditional surrender or the destruction of his life. Grindelwald said he would offer no alternative, but he has. With this Graves has a chance, a good chance. The absolute last thing he feels inclined to do is beg, and he will hold to his resolve.

This is a mistake. Every fiber of his being is screaming it at him. Grindelwald is so confident, he must have a reason.

But a part of Graves, a deeper, darker part, also wonders. _Can Grindelwald do it? And if so…_

_What would that feel like?_

Graves gives a tiny nod, barely perceptible.

He sees the way Grindelwald’s pupils dilate. He opens his mouth to give Grindelwald his own _terms and conditions_ , but before he can Grindelwald’s lips are on his.

Graves makes a soft noise of surprise and almost drops the hot tea all over his thighs.

Surprisingly, Grindelwald doesn’t force him. He holds Graves’ face between his hands and kisses him deep and slow, letting Graves get accustomed to the feel of their lips against each other before taking Graves’ lower lip between his teeth - not strong enough to hurt, but enough to tug and be able to suck on it gently. Graves closes his eyes. His own hands stay folded in his lap, clutching the tea cup.

Grindelwald coaxes him open, licking at the sensitive skin, biting gently, sucking until Graves surrenders and lets his lips part. He hasn’t kissed anyone in a while - he almost forgot how to, but Grindelwald seems to know for him. When they part Graves keeps his eyes shut and feels Grindelwald’s hands and lips on his neck, worshiping the skin there; Graves lets his head fall back automatically, allowing Grindelwald to explore further and his hands tremble. He asks for a break, short, the moment it takes to put the useless teacup back on the low table and then Grindelwald is on him again. Or rather, he encourages Graves to climb on top of him, on his lap, and then they’re kissing again and Graves has to admit that Grindelwald may be a bastard, but he _is_ a good kisser and it almost feels _nice_. For a second, Graves can pretend that he wants this.

“I can hear you thinking from the other side of the room,” Grindelwald murmurs against Graves’ lips. “That just won’t do, sweetheart. Relax. You’re not leaving anytime soon.”

Graves makes a little noise that doesn’t mean anything and Grindelwald taps at his hips with his fingers. “Get up.”

Graves does, glad for the respite. Then Grindelwald waves his hand towards a part of his house Graves has never ventured into, and says, “The bedroom’s that way. I trust you can find it yourself - I need to go grab a few things. When I arrive, I want you naked and at the end of the bed waiting for me.”

Graves stares at him, shocked by the order. That’s - that’s not how he pictured this. The kissing, the caresses, that he can manage, but this… It would be humiliating. “Gellert,” he says softly, “What…?”

“Oh, pet. Sorry. Just go into the bedroom, I’ll be right back.”

Graves nods, his head hazy, and finds himself moving in the direction Grindelwald indicated. It doesn’t feel real. The corridor he walks into is dark, the door to the bedroom ajar, the bed covers red. Graves doesn’t know what to do. What is he doing?

He looks around the room, taking it in, and in the end he sits on the side of the bed to wait. What else can he do? He doesn’t know whether he hopes Grindelwald comes back soon so that they can dispense with the waiting and get it over with, or if he hopes he never comes back. He can’t believe he’s about to do this. He can’t believe this is about to happen. He shakes his head and rests his fingers on top of the blanket, letting the tactile feeling of it under his hands occupy his mind.

When Grindelwald comes back he has divested himself of his vest and is in the process of rolling up his sleeves to his elbows. Graves stares at the mysterious bag Grindelwald holds in one hand and opens his mouth to ask about it, to ask what is going on. Everything is sliding out of his control so rapidly it leaves him dizzy.

Before he can get a word in Grindelwald raises a hand to silence him. “Hush, dearest.”

For some reason, some inexplicable, godforsaken reason, Graves obeys. He closes his mouth and watches as Grindelwald approaches him, smiling, looking at Graves like he’s a treat Grindelwald has coveted for a long time.

Which, Graves supposes, is true.

“Look at you,” Grindelwald murmurs. He steps even closer and Graves swallows. “You’re gorgeous. If only you saw yourself, you’d want to fuck you too.”

Graves feels his face heat up terribly. He cannot even begin to process an answer before Grindelwald’s hands wander up his chest and reach his tie. He begins undoing the knot, Graves looking down at Grindelwald’s hands as he does so, before Grindelwald pauses.

“Hmm. No,” He clicks his tongue. “Do it for me, pet.”

Questions form on Graves’ lips as Grindelwald takes his hands away, but he doesn’t know how to give voice to them.

“Come on, doll. I’m not going to do all the work for you.”

 _I don't want to be here_ , Graves thinks hysterically, but he does as Grindelwald asks. Better to get this over as soon as possible.

Christ, but he can’t believe he’s reached this point. Why isn’t he fighting more? Why isn’t he doing anything? Why did he give in? Why is he _obeying?_   Why did he let Grindelwald play him like a puppet?

Grindelwald shows Graves his hand, palm up, once Graves is done divesting himself of his tie pins. He ignores him and slips the family heirlooms into his pants pocket, hands reaching up towards his own tie - and then Grindelwald’s hand is in his hair, tight, _painful_ , and Graves yelps. Grindelwald drags him forward, taking him by the back of the neck and licking into his open mouth, deep and wet and hot. This time he bites down hard on Graves’ lower lip and Graves makes another pained sound, muffled by Grindelwald’s mouth over his. When Grindelwald opens his eyes he looks _angry_ , and Graves is utterly shocked at the stab of arousal that sends through him. He looks up at Grindelwald, eyes wide, messy strands of hair on his forehead and lips shining wetly. Grindelwald’s expression turns hungry.

“You need to learn, darling.”

 _Learn what_ , Graves thinks.

And then Grindelwald is kissing him again, hard, rough, possessive, and Graves doesn’t know if he would stop it even if he could. He feels the edge of the bed against his legs and has no idea when he started backing up. Grindelwald tangles his hand in Graves’ hair again, yanking at the same time as he wraps his hand delicately around Graves’ throat and Graves’ mouth goes slack.

Fuck.

How did Grindelwald know -

He falls on the bed on his back, bouncing slightly off of the mattress and Grindelwald crawls on top of him, weight pressing him down into the bed. He rolls his hips against Graves’, erect cock pressing against his own through the fabric of their pants and Graves gasps. His head falls back against the sheets and he closes his eyes. Why did he not want this?

Grindelwald’s mouth is back on him, over his face his lips his neck biting and marking the skin and oh -

Thoughts slip through Graves’ mind like water through a sieve, he can’t hold on to anything, there’s nothing except Grindelwald above him, Grindelwald’s hands and lips, Grindelwald’s cock pressing against him.

Graves goes pliant under him, soft, _wanting -_ he whimpers just to see, and hears Grindelwald curse above him -

Grindelwald pulls back and no, no that’s not what he wanted, he tries to follow but Grindelwald’s hand is back around his throat. Graves jerks his hips helplessly.

“Sweetheart,” Grindelwald growls. “Get. Undressed.”

Then he leaves, completely, and Graves’ neck feels cold. Hands shaking, he takes off his tie, his waistcoat, starts unbuttoning his shirt.

“Good,” Grindelwald murmurs. “Very good. Keep going - slowly. I want to treasure every inch of bare skin you reveal to me.”

Graves nods, barely aware of what that means but willing to do it. He slows the movements of his hands, lets them be soft against his skin as he undoes the rest of the buttons one at a time until his shirt hangs open.

Grindelwald hums appreciatively, eyes moving over Graves’ chest, taking him in.

“Oh, baby. You’re perfect.”

Graves feels himself glow. He bites his lips.

His ex-lovers always told him he was the worst kind of tease… Maybe he can use that against Grindelwald.

His hand travels further down south, pulling down his zipper at an agonisingly slow pace. Grindelwald steps closer. Graves slips his fingers under the waistband of his grey underwear and tugs down slowly, dragging the fabric over his hips, revealing his hip bones and more thick, dark hair as he does so - and then he stops and brings the cloth back over his stomach, covering himself again.

Grindelwald laughs, a little breathless. “Fuck.”

Graves smirks at him.

“You trying to make it good for me, baby? Putting on a show?”

“It’s what I’m good at,” Graves replies, feeling more in control of the situation, even enjoying it - the effect he has on this man who thought he could make him _beg_. What a trick it would be, if Grindelwald was the one who ended up begging _him._

“Is that right?” Grindelwald murmurs. “I must have missed that particular detail when talking to you.”

“Shall I continue?” Graves purrs.

Grindelwald crosses his arms and leans against one of the wooden columns of the four poster bed. “By all means, dearest.” There’s amusement in Grindelwald’s eyes, but Graves knows how turned on he is by this turn of events. Perhaps Graves can do this after all.

Graves raises his head up, exposing his neck, using the bed as support as he lifts his hips up, muscles of his stomach flexing as he does so. His hands caress his sides until they encounter the edge of his pants and he tugs them down as if they were a surprise, an obstacle in the exploration of his own body.

Graves has never found a dignified way to take off pants, so he leans on his elbows to rise up a little, head lolling over his shoulders before his gaze locks with Grindelwald’s.

Wordlessly, he lifts one leg off the bed, a clear invitation for Grindelwald to finish taking off his pants himself.

Grindelwald chuckles in earnest, and does come close. He places his knee on the bed, using it as leverage as his hands grip Graves’ pants.

“You think you’re in control, don’t you?” He hums as he takes off Graves’ pants, revealing miles of pale skin as he does so. He throws the pants carelessly on the floor and climbs back over Graves.

His hand ghosts over Graves’ cock, straining against the fabric of his underwear and Graves is determined not to let his facade crack.

“I know so.”

“Oh, baby.”

Grindelwald traces around the outline of his cock, teasing, and Graves blinks hard. He locks his jaw, determined to hold himself together. He rolls his hips, as slow and measured as he can, pressing into Grindelwald’s hand, letting out a low moan designed to take Grindelwald apart. There’s lust in Grindelwald’s expression, Graves can _see_ it and he moans again, determined to draw it out as he lays back against the pillows, inviting.

And it works, he draws Grindelwald in, the man is crawling up his body like he can’t stay away. He nips at Graves’ neck, under his jaw, licking over each spot his teeth touch. Graves brings a hand up to rest on the back of Grindelwald’s head, and it’s almost too easy.

“Do you want me?” he asks, trying to turn his voice into a low murmur. “Do you want - _a-ah!”_

He breaks off, gasping, when he feels Grindelwald’s teeth on his nipple, followed by the wet press of his tongue. It makes him press up into Grindelwald’s mouth involuntarily and he struggles to bring his breathing back under control.

Grindelwald doesn’t give him the chance. His fingers work Graves’ left nipple, pinching and twisting, while the soft press of his mouth envelops the right. He sucks hard and Graves’ head falls back against the pillow, his hand slipping from Grindelwald’s hair. This - this isn’t what he planned, this isn’t what was supposed to happen next.

Grindelwald works him until Graves is panting, little gasping breaths with each new stab of sensation. It sinks deep into his chest, too much and not enough, and the nubs of Graves’ nipples are too sensitive, too sore. Just when he thinks he can’t possibly take more, that he’ll have to do _something_ , anything to get relief from the constant, sharp pleasure, Grindelwald’s touches change.

His fingers release Graves’ nipple and for a half second Graves considers trying to prop himself up, but then Grindelwald _presses_ . Both hands find his nipples and Grindelwald presses his thumbs down, rubbing circles into his chest, spreading deep warmth through him. It’s not like anything he’s felt before. No one has done this for him, not like this. Teasing bites, pinches maybe, but nothing, _nothing_ like how Grindelwald works the pleasure deep into him, sinking it into his muscles with expert hands.

He kneads the muscle of Graves’ chest, working any last drop of struggle or resistance out of him, and Graves fades into the pleasure.

“Oh,” he pants. “ _Oh_ -”

“Told you, sweetheart,” Grindelwald whispers, leaning over Graves until their chests are touching, Grindelwald’s shirt against Graves’ burning skin. “You’re mine.”

“Not yet,” Graves manages.

Grindelwald pinches his nipple, sharp and sudden, before continuing to massage him, and Graves whines as the sensation spreads through his chest. Grindelwald doesn’t stop, he doesn’t give Graves a chance to breathe - anything he might say is washed away as Grindelwald pinches, and massages. Pinches, and massages, again and again. Graves gets lost in it, mind drifting with the feel of it. He’s loose and soft under Grindelwald’s hands, malleable, tensing up minutely each time Grindelwald pinches only to have it smoothed away again before his mind can focus on it.

Grindelwald is saying something to him but can’t focus on the words, can’t focus on anything.

“...Sweetheart? Do you want to go back to putting on your little show?”

Graves shakes his head and gasps out, “ _No, no…_ ” catching himself just in time, just before he can add _please._ His head rolls to the side and he can’t stop the moans of bliss that fall from his lips. It's been too long. He never knew - he never knew it could feel this good.

Graves’ cock is hard, solid agony beneath his boxers; his hands grip the sheets uselessly, body twisting as pleasure builds up within him. He doesn’t want it to stop but he needs _more_ , he needs it desperately. He presses his hips up, trying to grind against Grindelwald, but he’s pinned in place. He can barely move his hips but he _needs to_ , he can’t keep still, he can’t go on like this. Grindelwald isn’t stopping, and Graves feels wetness at his eyes.

“Gellert - Gellert I need to come -”

Grindelwald laughs again, and Graves doesn’t understand it.

“ _Darling._ You think you’ve earned it?”

“Plea -” Graves bites his tongue, face burning.

“Ah - ah,” Grindelwald says, cruel. “Almost got you.”

Graves tosses his head from side to side, tears spilling down his cheeks, no idea whether he’s trying to escape or get _more._

It’s the latter, he knows it is. He looks down to see a wet patch at the front of his underwear and whimpers. Grindelwald follows his gaze and leans down, _kissing_ the tip of Graves’ cock through the thin fabric. Graves’ breath hitches in his throat.

“Shh,” Grindelwald says. “I’ve got you.”

His fingertips slip under the waistband of Graves’ underwear, the softest touch. Slowly, so slowly, he drags it down Graves’ thighs, his knees, his calves, fingertips brushing over Graves’ skin. Graves chokes back a sob when his cock bobs free, curving over his stomach and _throbbing_.

Grindelwald takes in the sight of him, a mess on the bed craving the slightest touch, and he smiles.

He traces one finger up the underside of Graves’ cock, from the base to the tip, as more tears spill down Graves’ cheeks.

“ _Gellert_ ,” Graves breathes. “Yes, Gellert, Gellert -”

“You’re such a mess already,” Grindelwald murmurs idly, ghosting his fingers around Graves’ cock, his balls. “I wonder what you’ll look like when I’m done with you? I bet no one ever made you feel like I do, did they, baby? I bet you’re used to getting what you want. Who could resist a pretty face like you?”

“Less talking, more - more touching,” Graves replies, strained. “At least my former lovers touched me - _uh!_ ”

Graves jerks as he feels warm breath, ghosting over the head of his cock; a hint, a promise of wetness and softness and _release_ \- his head falls back against the mattress.

“God, yes -”

“Yes what?” Grindelwald asks, and God, Graves promised himself he wouldn’t beg but - but -

He needs Grindelwald to feel the way he does, the desperation, the ache, the burning pleasure that’s so _close_. He needs the man to lose control, to forget about this game he’s playing and _take_ him, and let him _come._

He reaches unseeingly for Grindelwald, hand falling on his shoulder, his arm - finding his thigh - and Graves strokes over him, trying to make his touch soft, good, fingers searching out his inner thigh -

Grindelwald grips his wrist painfully tight, pinning it to the mattress.

“What _exactly_ do you think you’re doing?”

“Need you,” Graves says, licking his lips, eyes wide. “I need you…”

“I know that, honey.”

“I - I - kiss me?” He says, eyelashes fluttering.

Grindelwald’s eyes narrow. “Okay, love. I will if you promise to lay back and do nothing. Let yourself be used.”

Graves nods, frantic. Anything.

Grindelwald releases his wrists and Graves keeps his hands still, body soft, sagging against the mattress, eyes looking up at the ceiling as Grindelwald starts kissing his way up Graves’ chest. He can’t help the little shivers of his body, and he clenches his fists to avoid wrapping both his arms and his legs around Grindelwald and pulling him close, _closer_. Grindelwald’s mouth is on his neck, his throat, his jaw, the corner of his lips. But when he rests his hands on either sides of Graves’ neck and presses his hips down against Graves’ straining cock as he kisses Graves deeply, languidly, Graves - snaps.

He needs Grindelwald to feel the same urgency he does, the same imperative _need_ , and he can’t hold it back anymore.

He surges up off the bed, one hand clutching Grindelwald around the shoulders and the other twisting into his hair, hips pressing up to roll against Grindelwald’s, one thigh sliding between Grindelwald’s legs. He kisses back furiously, with lips and teeth and tongue and too much arousal, dragging Grindelwald down onto him and locking them together, bodies tangled.

Grindelwald makes a sound low in his throat, sudden, a grunt of surprise and Graves thinks _yes_ -

Grindelwald bucks in his grip, biting Graves’ lip _hard_ at the same time he yanks Graves back by the hair, making him cry out in pain and forcing him to bare the line of his throat. Grindelwald looks _livid_ , and Graves whimpers.

He takes Graves’ chin in his hand, gripping him tight, as he growls, “How _dare_ you, pet.” Grindelwald shakes him, rough, and Graves wants to explain, he wants to apologize, anything, he just needs to come and he thought he could make Grindelwald like it.

“What did you think? If you kissed me pretty enough I’d give you whatever you wanted? Was that your plan?” Grindelwald shakes him again and Graves nods, having no idea what else to do. Grindelwald sighs and releases Graves’ jaw to stroke a finger over his throat, over his adam’s apple, slow. “You thought just because you wanted to come, you could do whatever you wanted?” Graves hesitates, and Grindelwald sees it in his eyes. “You want it that bad?” The honey sweetness is sliding back into Grindelwald’s voice, his eyes mocking. Graves nods, once, jerkily.

“Okay, baby. Okay, it’s all right.” He presses his cheek to Graves’, soft, intimate, breath tickling Graves’ ear. “I’ll let you come. You want that?” Graves whines, because _God -_ “I know. I know, baby. You just do one thing for me. One thing and I’ll let you come. Can you do that?”

Graves nods again. _Anything,_ he thinks.

“That’s it, good boy.”

Grindelwald maneuvers Graves until he’s laid out on the bed properly. Graves goes easy, Grindelwald’s hands burning his skin, and he doesn’t know what Grindelwald is going to ask of him but he can’t imagine he would refuse.

When he’s positioned to Grindelwald’s liking the man smiles above him. “You stay just like that. Close your eyes and just lie still.”

Graves does. He feels Grindelwald above him, a soft palm pressed to his cheek, a stroke over his lips.

“I want you to keep your eyes closed. One minute baby, or you won’t get to come. Count it out if you like. Can you do that?”

“Yes -” Graves gasps out. “Yes.” He can’t imagine how long a minute is, not when he feels like this, but if that’s all it takes he’ll do it gladly.

“Good.”

Graves feels the mattress creak and dip as Grindelwald moves, readjusting, and Graves’ breathing quickens slightly as Grindelwald trails a finger over his chest.

And then the mattress springs up and Grindelwald is gone. Graves whines, alone in the darkness behind his eyelids, but Grindelwald’s voice comes back to him.

“So good, pet. You’re doing so well. Just a little longer.”

The lilt of his tone is reassuring, and Graves quiets. He can hear Grindelwald moving around the room and Graves can’t figure out what he’s doing, but he must be so close now, he can’t worry about it.

Grindelwald’s hand falls on his arm and Graves startles. Grindelwald caresses him, soothing him, and Graves lets himself relax again. Grindelwald is stroking down both his arms now, from his shoulders to his wrists, and it’s nice. It’s _so_ nice. He barely notices when Grindelwald guides his arms above his head, giving him access to caress Graves’ sides, his waist. And then his finger is tracing little circles into the soft underside of Graves’ wrist, his palm, almost tickling but feeling so good. There’s something soft wrapping around his right wrist, pulled snug but not too tight, and Graves frowns in confusion. Grindelwald does the same thing on Graves’ left, and Graves hears a soft click. He has the sudden sinking feeling that something isn’t right, it’s not going to be so simple, and he can feel his breathing picking up.

“Gellert…”

“Shh, don’t you worry. Almost done.”

Graves doesn’t know if he believes him, and he swallows. Surely it must have been a minute, it must have.

Something presses over his eyes and Grindelwald uses his surprised attempt to pull himself up to fasten it around the back of his head.

But that - that is not the worst of it. He can’t move his hands. He tugs against the cuffs, because that’s what they are - Grindelwald put cuffs on him and Graves _let_ him, he let it happen, oh God - but they’re firm against the headboard, tight around his wrists. He throws his head side to side under the blindfold, lost and disoriented in the dark, apprehension rising up to match his arousal. This - he didn’t agree to this.

“Gellert, what is this?”

“Young men like you need to be taught a lesson,” Grindelwald’s voice reaches him. “I'm just helping you learn. You'll thank me later.”

What? Taught _what?_ Graves’ heart is pounding, mind racing, trying to make sense of what is going on.

“I don’t - Gellert, I don’t understand, what are you _doing?"_

“Something you'll like,” Grindelwald says simply.

Then he wraps one hand around Graves’ cock and starts dragging his fingers up and down and Graves’ words of protest die on his tongue.

“Oh - oh _yeah_ , there, uuh -”

He feels like he could come any moment, hips jerking up erratically into Grindelwald’s hand, the drag of his fingers just right, he feels the warmth building up inside him and finally, _finally -_

Grindelwald’s hand vanishes.

“ _No!”_ Graves cries. “Why did you stop, you -”

“Because I wanted to,” Grindelwald says. “Do you understand your situation, Mr. Graves? I can do anything I want to you. You are helpless.”

“I can touch you,” Grindelwald murmurs, accompanying his words with gestures. His hands caress Graves’ soft inner thighs, close to where Graves most wants him and he whines in frustration. “Kiss you.” Open mouthed, on the head of Graves’ cock. “ _Hurt_ you.” Fingers back on his sensitive nipples, pinching and twisting. “I can make you mine.” The fingers are back on his cock, trailing down, past his balls and down the seam of Graves’ ass. Graves jerks as he feels Grindelwald’s hands part his cheeks, exposing the little fluttering hole. Graves’ face burns with shame. “Pull you apart with my fingers and split you open on my dick until you can't remember your own name, until you can't figure out whether you _existed_ without me inside you.”

“I can do all this, Mr. Graves, and more. So if I were you, I'd shut that pretty little mouth of yours and let me handle this.”

Grindelwald moves away, leaving the bed and Graves is left to stare at the darkness behind his eyelids, his cock so hard it's painful.

Graves strains to hear where Grindelwald is in the room, he can’t stand to be so lost, he’s shaking in the darkness and in the wake of Grindelwald’s words.

He jumps when Grindelwald grabs his cock again, having no idea the man was so near. The touch is followed by something cool against the head of his cock and Grindelwald slips it down over Graves’ swollen shaft, settling the ring around the base.

Graves lets out a desperate sob. He knows what this means and he doesn’t know if he can take it.

“What was it?” Grindelwald asks conversationally. “You want to come, is that right?”

“You bastard,” Graves says, helpless.

Grindelwald leans down until his mouth is at Graves’ ear. “Remember our agreement, baby. No. Begging.” He bites Graves’ earlobe before letting go. “Let's see how long it takes before you lose it.”

Graves wants to protest, he wants to deny it. He wishes he could scoff, spit back that he would _never_ , that he has more dignity than that.

A high whimper escapes him, and Graves feels shame creep through him.

Grindelwald takes him in hand again, stroking him in earnest, pulling sounds from Graves that he didn’t know he could make. Graves bites back words, afraid of what might fall from his mouth, because he doesn’t know anymore how this is going to end.

When Graves’ whines get louder, when he lets out a desperate, “ _Gellert_ ,” as his head falls back, Grindelwald stops. Graves feels his eyes sting with unshed tears. Grindelwald lets him breathe, deeply, for half a minute before his hand is on Graves’ cock again.

Graves moves his hips, trying to thrust into the tightness of Gellert’s hand, thighs trembling, but it only serves to make him more desperate for release.

“Gellert, Gellert, _Gellert!_ ”

Grindelwald stops. Graves shivers, pants and sobs, and Grindelwald takes him apart all over again. It goes on, and on, and on, Graves doesn’t know how many times. He’s long past counting, he’s long past _thinking_ , all he can do is feel. The only things in his world are Grindelwald’s hand and the pleasure searing under his skin.

He doesn't even realize he's started to beg until he hears himself.

“Gellert please I need to come _please_ -”

He screams when Grindelwald leans down to suckle on the tip of Graves’ cock.

“ _Yes, like that, please more Gellert please -”_

“ _Gellert Gellert oh God oh please please please Sir -”_

_“Please Gellert anything, anything just let me come I need it please, anything you want just let me come -”_

_“Oh God, oh fuck oh god, please I can’t - I can’t - I -”_

_“Please I’ll be good I swear I need it, I need it so much, oh Gellert, oh, oh -”_

“ _Oh_ _please, please! I need it Gellert, I need you, I need you oh God you were right, you were right please -”_

“Beg me,” Grindelwald says, rubbing the palm of his hand over the weeping head of Graves’ cock.

“ _Oh - o - o - oh -”_

“Convince me.”

“ _Please fuck me, oh please -_ ”

“What was that?”

“ _Fuck me!”_ Graves sobs _, “Fuck me Gellert, I need it I need it please just fuck me I want you to fuck me -”_

“There you go.”

Grindelwald releases his cock and Graves tries to breathe, past the dizziness in his head, the pulsing in his cock, the dryness of his throat. The next thing he knows Grindelwald is circling his hole with a finger, slick and cold, and pleasure surges through him once more, almost violent. His wrists hurt from his useless struggles against the handcuffs.

Grindelwald enters him and Graves spreads his legs, inviting him further in, relaxing his body. He's trying to be good, to let Grindelwald do as he pleases, to let him use Graves as he likes.

“Good girl,” Grindelwald praises mockingly. “Look at you, taking it all in. Think you can handle another?”

Graves nods, broken. “ _Please_.”

“Good. How about three?” Grindelwald moves his finger in and out slowly, feeling Graves’ insides, stretching him.

“ _Please_ , Gellert.”

Grindelwald presses his fingers against Graves’ entrance and Graves hisses, then moans at the stretch as he feels himself opening up around them, taking Grindelwald inside. It’s so much but it’s so good, it feels so good to be filled. Grindelwald coaxes him open, playing his body like an instrument and Graves responds in kind, making sounds in just the right places. Grindelwald curls his fingers, up, and Graves cries as burning pleasure shoots through him.

“There.”

“Oh my _God_ ,” Graves blurts out.

“Hmm. I think you're ready, pet.”

He is. He is. He hasn't taken anything wider than two fingers up there in months, but he is, he needs it, he wants it, he needs Grindelwald to fill him. Grindelwald pulls out and Graves whines at the loss. He hears the sound of a zipper being pulled down, something pressing against his entrance, and he sobs in relief.

“Yes, _yes_ , please -’

Grindelwald presses his cock between Graves’ ass cheeks, rubbing it over his hole, teasing, not entering him, and Graves moves his body as much as he is allowed, rolling his hips, lifting his legs, making himself look inviting, wanton.

“Please fuck me, Gellert, fuck me, _a - ah, yes!”_

Grindelwald enters him in one thrust, stealing the air from Graves’ lungs and filling him in ways he didn't think were possible. Grindelwald’s cock is of respectable length, but he is wide, and presses against Graves’ insides just the way he needs it.

Grindelwald pulls out until just the tip of his cock is at Graves’ hole and he slams back in, grunting.

“Baby girl - _uh_ \- look at you, you're gorgeous, so wet for me, so tight.”

Graves makes little lost sounds of pleasure as Grindelwald keeps rolling his hips, jabbing, pistoning, angling his thrusts towards Graves’ prostate and making him cry out each time. Graves is on the edge, kept there; he needs very little to tumble over it but he's not allowed.

Grindelwald sets a punishing pace, leaving bruises on Graves’ hips, fucking him relentlessly. Graves can hear him curse under his breath as he accelerates, and he stays docile and pliant under him, letting Grindelwald use his body to seek pleasure. This is unlike anything he's ever had with any partner. This is unlike _him_ , but it is happening and he likes it and he doesn't know how it happened.

Grindelwald touches his cock and Graves’ moan is so loud he shocks himself.

“Beautiful,” Grindelwald purrs. “Let me hear you, come on -”

He pumps Graves’ aching cock, fast, at the same time as he thrusts and Graves’ eyes roll back into their sockets, his back arching off the bed. He never knew pleasure could be like this. Moans and whimpers fall from his lips, pulled from somewhere deep inside him, and he didn’t know he was capable of such noises. It makes Grindelwald grip his hips harder, the pain of it lost under the relentless pleasure. He’s past words now, past begging, past anything but simply feeling and reacting. It doesn’t matter, there are no words he could use to express what Grindelwald is doing to him - how deeply Grindelwald is taking him, how much Graves craves him.

Grindelwald’s thrusts are growing harder, deeper, and Graves takes it. Anything Grindelwald gives him, Graves will take. He feels like Grindelwald is close, his hand leaving Graves’ cock to bury himself deep inside Graves and he tries to be good for him - experimentally, he tries to tighten around Grindelwald and the man curses aloud before stilling, eyes closed, nails digging into Graves’ skin.

He can feel Grindelwald’s cock pulsing in him as he comes and Graves moans with it, a part of him feeling complete. Grindelwald falls on top of him, breathing harshly, his softening cock still inside.

“God,” he breathes. “You were perfect. Better than what I imagined -” He grabs Graves’ face between his hands, takes off his blindfold. Graves stares back at him, cheeks glistening with tears, and Grindelwald kisses him deeply.

“Baby, you did so good. I think… You deserve a little reward.”

Graves forgets how to breathe.

“Really?” He says, voice small and cracking.

“Yes. Let me see you.”

Graves glows with the praise, with anticipation, he’d tried so hard to be good.

Grindelwald kisses his way down Graves’ body, slowly, open mouthed; he nips at the low of Graves’ stomach, and further down, the insides of his thighs, one after the other, ignoring the flushed cock in front of him. Graves whimpers.

He rests his finger on the tip of Graves’ cock, and trails down until he encounters the coldness of the cock ring.

Graves watches with bated breath, straining against his bonds, half expecting Grindelwald to play with him again, deny him, or leave him like this - but Grindelwald unclasps it, the latch giving off with a little click, and Graves feels it slide up his hypersensitive skin as Grindelwald takes it off.

He needs nothing. The brush of a finger. A kiss. Anything.

His eyes are pleading as he looks at Grindelwald, the man taking his time in putting the cock ring away.

“Please,” he whimpers. “Please.”

Grindelwald places his hands on Graves’ knees and pushes, spreading them further apart, exposing Graves. His mouth, pink and wet; his nipples, abused; his cock, leaking; and his hole, fluttering and leaking Grindelwald’s come.

“Look at you.”

“ _Gellert -”_

“I've got you.”

Grindelwald’s hand closes around Graves’ cock, the pressure just right, the rhythm fast. The toe curling pleasure spreads through Graves so quickly his head spins. It rises, crests, nestles itself _there_.

“Come for me, baby.”

And Graves does.

He's never known anything like it. Grindelwald draws it out of him, and Graves soars. He doesn't know how long it lasts - he is floating, unaware, lost but for Grindelwald’s hands on him. Pleasure sparks through his body, arcing along his nerves, to the very core of him. The world fades from around him, and he lets his eyes close.

Eventually he becomes aware of Grindelwald moving, hands on his wrists - the cuffs fall away and Graves rolls onto his side, curled against Grindelwald’s chest. He is trembling, shivering. Grindelwald wipes his tears with a gentle thumb and kisses Graves’ forehead. Graves snuggles closer, eyes closing.

_Please fuck me._

Graves pales, opening his eyes.

_Please Gellert anything, anything just let me come._

Grindelwald smiles against his skin.

_You're mine._

Oh God.

“I hate you,” Graves mumbles.

“I know.”

Grindelwald rubs a hand over his back, soothing him as Graves buries his head in his shoulder, tears pricking his eyes. He lost. He lost everything. And all he wants is for Grindelwald to hold him. He presses himself closer into Grindewald’s arms, and Grindelwald embraces him as Graves cries.

“I warned you,” Grindelwald murmurs. “This is a game.”

Graves knows now. ****


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The third and final chapter is here!!! Check the updated tags and enjoy XD
> 
> (Please note that while Credence is underage in this chapter, he is a willing participant. That said, Grindelwald being Grindelwald consent is of course ridiculously fucked up over all)

The way Graves’ life turns around is enough to make him dizzy. When he walks into work Monday morning Tina greets him warmly, by Wednesday Abernathy is enthusiastically recounting his daughter’s latest soccer match, and by the end of the week Seraphina has stopped threatening to fire him all together and even _smiled_ at him. Graves has no idea how Grindelwald did it. He’d wrecked Graves’ life with a word and put it back together just as easily. It takes a while for Graves to let his guard down, to believe that things are back to normal, but they really are.

Or at least, a certain measure of normal.

Outside of work hours he belongs to Grindelwald. There are still papers to grade, they still eat dinner and laugh together, but Graves knows that Grindelwald will take him as he chooses. And Grindelwald knows that Graves will let him.

Grindelwald doesn’t hold back from touching Graves anymore, and Graves finds that he… doesn’t mind. Grindelwald’s touches make him shiver, his words make him blush, and it’s not like any relationship Graves has ever had. No matter what Graves thinks during the day, when Grindelwald takes him to bed everything else ceases to be important.

He can feel Grindelwald drawing him in deeper, enmeshing him in this thing, and with every step it’s easier to just let it happen. Fighting Grindelwald on anything is exhausting, Graves has never met a more determined man, and for the most part Grindelwald treats him well. Even in the times he doesn’t Graves usually discovers that it’s his own fault, and the rest of it feels so good that Graves has a hard time coming up with justifications for his occasional unease.

Besides, Grindelwald has ways of discouraging disobedience.

So when one day Grindelwald backs him against the wall just outside his classroom door, one hand curling around his waist to say _goodbye_ before the start of afternoon classes, Graves lets it happen.

And when he’s working on grading essays in the staff room and asks for Grindelwald’s opinion, and Grindelwald chooses to look at the work by leaning over Graves from behind with one hand on the back of his chair and the other planted on the table, Graves does his best to get his breathing under control and says nothing.

When Grindelwald helps him put on his coat and wraps his own scarf around Graves’ neck, his colleagues smile at their cups of coffee and know.

When he gets a phone call from Gellert during class, Graves frowns. But Gellert will be angry if he doesn't pick up, so Graves excuses himself to his students and answers.

“Gellert?”

“Percival,” Gellert says, voice deep and low on the other end of the phone. “I bought you a gift.”

“What kind of gift?” Graves asks.

“One that you'll _like_ ,” Grindelwald purrs. “Just picturing how you’ll look tonight… _oh_. The things I’m going to do to you. You’ll be so pretty for me, all dressed up, your little cunt on display. All wet and open.” Grindelwald’s voice is soft in his ear, and Graves feels his face heat up. What is Grindelwald _thinking?_ “I'm going to take my time unraveling you, sweetheart. I'll kiss every inch of you until you're writhing in my arms, and then I will take the same path and bite you. I wonder if you could come from that alone, or if you need a little more convincing - say, my hand around your throat as I pound into you, splitting you open on my cock, your cries music to my ears -”

Graves hangs up, dropping the phone on the table as if scalded.

He'll pay for that later, he knows, but - _God_.

Graves looks up to see the faces of his students, and he clears his throat. The very last thing he needs is to have them all wondering _what kind of gift_ , Christ.

“I’m sorry. Where were we?” he asks the class, and none of them seem particularly eager to tell him, curious eyes wondering what Mr. Grindelwald said to make Graves lose his composure like this.

 

\----------------------------------------

 

Graves looks up in surprise when the classroom door opens, pausing his writing on the board. “Gellert. What are you doing here?”

“No more markers in my classroom,“ Gellert drawls, eyes sweeping across the room. Students pause in their writing, murmuring a “Hello, sir” and looking curiously at him. “Thought I'd ask a colleague for help.”

“Ah,” Graves smiles, only a little nervous in the face of Grindelwald’s tone, and gestures to the tray underneath his whiteboard which holds several pens. “Well, feel free to -”

Grindelwald stalks towards him slowly until he's close enough to pluck the marker out of Graves’ own hand. “Thank you. You know,” he says out loud, twirling the marker between his fingers and looking up at Graves. “Those glasses make you look gorgeous.”

Graves flushes, but it's not over. Grindelwald steps on the platform and leans closer to him, forcing Graves to back up against the board. Then his mouth is at Graves’ ear, and he says, low enough not to be heard by students and close enough to make Graves’ heart skip several beats, “It makes me want to ravish you. Right here, right now, in front of _everyone_.”

Graves opens his mouth like a fish, trying desperately to think of an answer other than _Yes_ , _please_ and Grindelwald steps back, smirking. “I'll see you later, Percival.”

And then he's gone, whistling, leaving Graves to stammer through the rest of the lesson as best he can.

Rumors soar through the roof after that.

 

\----------------------------------------

 

Graves is busy grading papers at the table of the staff room when Queenie bursts through the door, smiling brightly, cheerful as ever.

“I bought ice cream!” She says, proudly showing them a bag in her hand. A few chuckles echo her.

“We’re in March, Queenie,” Seraphina says, but her tone is warm. She’s busy getting her usual coffee at the vending machine, Gellert queuing behind her. Queenie raises a delicate eyebrow.

“Your point being?”

“That it’s cold outside,” Percival says gruffly, setting his pen down on the table. “But there are no rules when it comes to eating ice cream. I, for one, would love to have some.”

Queenie smiles at him, cute dimples forming around her eyes and mouth. “Thank you, Percival. Anyone else interested?”

Abernathy raises his hand, as well as Seraphina. Gellert politely refuses one, and Newt is too busy sighing over the stuff his students wrote in their last biology exam to even be aware of what’s happening in the room.

Queenie walks around, depositing the popsicles in each of their waiting hands. Graves unwraps his own, licking his lips in anticipation - it’s been forever since he indulged himself in something as simple as multicolored ice cream bars, and he intends to enjoy it. He pushes his papers aside on the table to avoid getting them sticky, mindful of his student’s works, before wrapping his lips around the tip of the ice cream. The taste is sweet, cold and laden with too much sugar and Graves can’t help but close his eyes as he sucks gently. It’s so good.

It melts in his mouth, sticks to his tongue as he gives the popsicle a few experimental licks, trying to see if the taste is different depending on the colors. It is, but not by much. The heating in the room works full time and Graves alarmingly realizes he has to eat quickly, lest he wants his hands and wrists to be covered in ice cream. So he does. He pulls the popsicle deep inside his mouth before taking a small, definite bite out of it. He lets it drift from cheek to cheek, waiting for it to melt before he swallows it down and repeats the process.

When he’s done and the dry, wooden stick is all that remains in his hands Graves sees that despite his best efforts his hands _are_ sticky and wet. He knows he has tissues somewhere in his briefcase but he can’t very well touch anything now so he decides to clean them the best he can, in the only way he knows how. He wraps his tongue around his fingers, licks the tips and in between, licks his palm. One final drag of his tongue up the soft inside of his wrist and he’s clean.

Queenie giggles at his side, chiding him gently for his poor table manners and Graves flushes, suddenly grasping how rude that must have seemed, but his bad habits caught up with him.

He thanks Queenie for the dessert. He feels sated and happy as he gathers his papers into a neat pile - the bell just rang, signaling the beginning of afternoon classes - and he raises his head to propose that Gellert accompany him to his own classroom since it’s on his way, but the words die on his tongue when he sees how Grindelwald looks at him.

Hungry. Lustful. Urgent.

Graves feels his cock twitch beneath his pants and swallows, throat suddenly dry. Gellert is leaning against the window, his own hand clutching his coffee cup so tight his knuckles seem white, his gaze never once wavering from Graves’. Graves licks his lips and sees the movement reflected back at him, slow and deliberate.

He prides himself on how steady and uninterested his voice sounds as he asks, “Gellert? Shall we go?”

Grindelwald nods, silent for once. He walks across the room in long, quick strides as Graves puts the graded papers back into his briefcase - they’re the last ones to leave the room, they’re late, they should hurry - before he reaches Graves’ side. Graves pretends he isn’t seeing him, pretends he isn’t _feeling_ the man’s body so close to his own.

Then Grindelwald growls, low and soft and dangerous, “You _tease_.”

Graves pauses, looks at him, finds he cannot hold his stare and shakes his head, uncomprehending. “Let’s go.”

Surprisingly, Grindelwald doesn’t stop him as he directs himself to the door, his face carefully blank.

“You coming?” Graves asks.

“No,” Grindelwald says. “Go ahead. I’ll see you tonight.”

Graves nods without thinking and leaves the staff room, missing the whispered, “ _Fuck,_ ” behind him beneath the sound of the door closing.

 

\----------------------------------------

 

Graves takes a while to pack up his things at the end of the day. It’s been a long afternoon, and he takes his time organizing the assignments his students handed in and tidying up the classroom. It always amazes him how many fragments of paper his students leave lying around, and he knows it’s not strictly speaking his job but he feels bad leaving such a mess. And anyway, he’s not really looking forward to grading this evening, so he has no particular motivation to hurry. He’s finally snapping his briefcase shut when the door creaks, and he looks up.

“Oh - Gellert, hello.” And all at once he remembers Grindelwald’s words in the staff room at lunch, his hungry, almost predatory expression when he looked at him, and something tells him he won’t be grading papers tonight after all. Grindelwald gets what he wants.

“Percival,” Grindelwald purrs, “still here. Waiting for me?”

“I was just leaving. We can go if you like, I -”

“Go where?” Grindelwald’s gaze is intent, purposeful, and entirely wrong for their current setting. Graves frowns in confusion as Grindelwald approaches him.

“Home, I thought.”

All of a sudden Grindelwald is there, nearly pressed against him, and Graves’ breath catches as Grindelwald lays his palm on his chest, stroking a finger along the neckline of his vest. Graves steps back until he bumps against the desk and Grindelwald follows him, maintaining the distance.

“Gellert, I -” Grindelwald has been acting strange all day, and Graves knows what he wants but this is odd even for him. They’re in a classroom, for God’s sake. “I’ll hurry.” Graves turns to grab his briefcase from the desk, but before he can he feels Grindelwald tight against his back, arms wrapping around to hold him. Graves rocks against him, trying instinctively to dislodge his grip, but Grindelwald has him off guard.

“No need,” Grindelwald murmurs in his ear. “I’m ready right now.”

This - this isn’t right.

“Gellert, we can't -”

“Can't we?” Grindelwald whispers. “You don't make the rules here, sweetheart.” His hand travels down Graves’ chest until he reaches the space between Graves’ legs and cups him through his pants, tight.

“No,” Graves says weakly, even as he rolls his hips instinctively into the pressure Grindelwald offers. “Please stop.”

“ _Please stop_ ,” Grindelwald repeats mockingly. “Look at you. You're already begging for it.”

Graves shakes his head; he wouldn’t beg for it, not here, the door is _open_. But he can’t deny the way his hips press into Grindelwald’s hand, the shiver that runs down his spine as he feels Grindelwald’s hardness dig into the low of his back. Maybe Grindelwald is right, he doesn’t know.

He looks down to see Grindelwald’s fingers deftly undoing the buttons of his vest, and bites his lips not to make a noise. Grindelwald has never cared much about right and wrong, but Graves can't in good conscience let him have his way _here_ , no matter how good it feels.

Grindelwald slips a hand beneath the waistband of his pants, palming Graves through his underwear and Graves has to stop him.

“What are you doing?” He manages, trying to speak past his shortness of breath. “Wait, Gellert, don't - not _there_ -”

 

\----------------------------------------

 

Credence is late leaving school. He doesn’t even know why he gets held back half the time - sometimes he thinks the teachers just don’t like him. He hauls his backpack over one shoulder as he walks down the corridor, and his mind is already on the evening ahead when he hears the noise. It’s a sort of scraping and shuffling, a muffled thump coming from one of the classrooms, and then - Mr. Graves’ voice.

“What are you doing? Wait, Gellert, don’t - not _there_ -”

Concern builds in Credence’s chest. Is Mr. Graves in trouble? It doesn’t make sense how that could possibly happen in a classroom at Ilvermorny. The door to the classroom the noises are coming from is ajar, and Credence hurries to look. If Mr. Graves is in trouble…

But the sight that meets his eyes isn’t what he expected. Mr. Graves is there, but so is Mr. Grindelwald. Grindelwald has him from behind, one arm wrapped around his chest and his other hand… oh. His other hand is fondling Graves’ crotch. Graves looks like he’s struggling, but Credence doesn’t understand why. Half the school knows about how Graves seduced Grindelwald, and Credence is convinced they’re sleeping together.

Grindelwald is talking, hissing into Graves’ ear just loud enough that it carries to where Credence stands at the door.

“You’ve been teasing me all day and you expect me to do nothing about it?”

“I haven’t -” Graves twists, but Grindelwald holds him firm.

“Your ass in those pants, Percival. You ate that ice cream in front of me at lunch and then you _licked your fingers._ ”

“I didn’t mean - oh…” Graves trails off into a moan as Grindelwald rubs him and grinds his hips forward into Graves’ ass.

“Look how hard I am for you. You feel that? You feel what you’ve been doing to me all day?”

“Gellert - not here, not at _school_ \- later, if you want, I-I’ll let you -”

“Shut up.” Grindelwald’s hand slides up to close around Graves’ throat, and with a whimper he falls back against Grindelwald’s chest.

Credence is growing uncomfortably warm watching the display, watching Grindelwald take what Graves promised him. Credence doesn’t know what to do. He shouldn’t be seeing this. Does Graves want this? Does he need help? If he really did everything Grindelwald said he must have expected it… And then Graves makes a tiny, needy sound which sends arousal shooting up Credence’s spine, and Graves must be _loving_ this or he wouldn’t be making those noises.

Credence is burning up and unable to tear his eyes away.

Grindelwald presses Graves forward, pinning him to the desk at the front of the room, holding him down with one hand to the back of the neck while he strips Graves of his pants. Graves is still struggling, but arousal seems to be overpowering his will to fight.

“That’s it pet, you know how this goes.” Grindelwald is kneading Graves’ ass, humming appreciatively. He has his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows and Credence can see the muscles in his forearm rippling as he does - something, Credence can’t see from this angle - that makes Graves jerk. “Oh yeah, you’re going to open up so pretty for me.”

Graves shakes his head, but he doesn’t look like even he believes he doesn’t want this anymore. Grindelwald rummages in his pants pocket and pulls out a bottle which he uncaps, spreading the contents over Graves’ ass. He’d planned this. Credence can’t see what he’s doing - as much as he finds that he wishes he could - but he can hear the slick, squelching sounds Grindelwald’s fingers make and he can see the way Graves’ expression goes slack. Credence can only imagine what Graves’ ass - his... his hole - must look like right now. Credence has to bite his lower lip, hard, to keep from making a sound to voice his appreciation.

Before long Graves is moaning, rocking in time with the thrusts of Grindelwald’s fingers. When Grindelwald pulls out he whines, feeling achingly empty.

“Hush. I know how much you need it.” Grindelwald flips Graves over, hauling him up onto the table so that he’s laid out on his back, ass hanging over the edge. “Fuck,” Grindelwald breathes. “You don’t know how long I’ve dreamed of taking you like this, over your own desk.”

“Fuck off,” Graves gasps, but his voice has no strength to it.

“I’m going to fuck you now, sweetheart,” Grindelwald purrs, “and you’re going to love it.” Grindelwald makes a quick job of taking himself out of his pants, before rubbing the tip of his cock over Graves’ wet hole. His eyes travel up the length of Graves’ body, taking in his own hardening cock, his blown expression. And then he looks past Graves, above him, to the silhouette of Credence standing in the doorway.

His expression is a mask of surprise, which Graves is too busy moaning and urging Grindelwald on to notice.

Credence freezes, mortified. He’s going to be in so much trouble, he shouldn’t have stayed, shit, _shit_ -

But Grindelwald doesn’t say anything. His expression smooths into a slow smile, something dark in his eyes which Credence hasn’t seen before. Slowly, deliberately, he puts a finger to his lips.

Credence nods, pinned by Grindelwald’s gaze.

He watches, awestruck, as Grindelwald presses forward into Graves, tipping his head back in pleasure as he does so. Credence has never heard anything as sweetly erotic as the sound Graves makes as Grindelwald enters him. Grindelwald thrusts his hips once, twice, almost lazily, letting Graves feel him inside. He smirks at Credence when Graves twitches on the table and Credence wants to _see_ , but he doesn’t dare move.

“Oh _,_ you feel so good inside baby - your tight, warm little cunt fits me just right. It’s like you were built for me. Squeeze up around me, that’s it - _oh yeah_ , that’s right, just like that, pet.”

Credence blushes scarlet at the words, and the slick sounds Graves’ hole makes to accompany them.

Grindelwald grips Graves’ hips and pulls him closer, dragging him deeper onto his cock, splitting him open. He taunts Graves, mocking him, while making eye contact with Credence. Graves’ own eyes are closed, the man so overwhelmed and out of it, he doesn’t notice. "Imagine if your students found you this way, laid out on your own desk. What would they think of you then, hmm?" Graves sobs and shakes his head, and his cock twitches. "Ohh, you like that?"

Credence is caught in Grindelwald's gaze. He can't move, he doesn't know what to do. And Mr. Graves... Mr. Graves is so beautiful. Credence always thought so. Grindelwald sees Credence's struggle and he grins, sharp and cruel. "What if the whole school found out what a slut you are? All it takes..." Grindelwald rolls his hips inside Graves, making him moan and clutch at his desk for purchase. "Is one person. You know how rumors spread."

Graves grits his teeth. "Stop talking, damn it,” he gasps. “You have me -"

"Oh?" Grindelwald chuckles, low. "So desperate." Another roll of his hips, hitting that spot inside Graves and his hips buck up as he tries to bring himself closer to Grindelwald. "So eager for it. So beautiful," he says, looking at Credence as he does so, and Credence can only gulp and give a tiny nod.

He's hard, impossibly hard. He’s never felt like this before and this is all wrong, it's so wrong - and then Grindelwald starts thrusting into Graves, making the table creak as he fucks the body in front of him properly and Credence bites the insides of his cheeks so hard he tastes blood in his mouth. Graves is moaning, speech failing him as he pants, gasps, whines at Grindelwald to go faster, _deeper_. He hides his face in the crook of his arms and Grindelwald tuts, halting his movements and using his hands to pin Graves' wrists on either side of his body.

"That's it, sweetheart, let's see you," Grindelwald croons. "Oh, look at you. Just lie back and take it, that's it."

Then he keeps thrusting into Graves relentlessly until Graves is sobbing. His cock is flushed, pretty in pink, hard against his stomach and Credence can see it leaking and he _shouldn't be here_ , but he feels as if God himself couldn’t make him leave the room in this instant.

Grindelwald lets go of Graves' hands, with a whispered threat that should he make a move to hide again he'll be left unsatisfied. He grabs Graves' hips, nails digging into Graves' skin and thrusts _hard_.

"Oh my god," Graves sobs. "Oh - _god_ -"

"Ah," Grindelwald says, breathless. "You like that? You like it rough? You were made for this, handsome, just look at you -" Graves keens and Grindelwald thrusts harder.

Credence sees the moment Graves spirals over the edge, head thrown back, digging his nails into the wood of the table, mouth slack and eyes closed, and Grindelwald says, "- Am I right, Credence?" at the same time as Graves' hole starts clenching around him, making him grunt.

Graves is breathing hard when he comes back to himself, the muscles of his stomach flexing as he lets himself lay back down on the table, feeling calm and sated in the afterglow of his orgasm.

Then his brain catches up with Grindelwald's words.

He's still breathless and sticky, hair plastered to his forehead, but he cranes his neck up, eyes wide, to see Credence Barebone, a _sophomore_ , standing behind him frozen on the spot, lips parted and pants tented. His heart plummets in his chest.

"Credence," he says, voice weak. "I - _oh!_ "

"Pay attention to me," Grindelwald croons as he resumes his movements. "I'm not done with you yet."

"What - no - ohhh..." Graves is oversensitive, soft and wrung out after his own orgasm, and he can't stop squirming on Grindelwald's cock. "G - Gellert,” he manages, “We can't - fuck - _stop_ , oh my _God_ just pull _out_ -"

Grindelwald doesn’t listen, fucking and abusing his hole in search of his own release.

"Why should I?" Grindelwald asks, slapping his hands on Graves' thighs to spread them wider, making the man hiss in pain. "He's been watching since the beginning."

"What - Stop!" Graves cries, trying to escape him.

Grindelwald growls an, "Oh no you don't," even as his cock slips free from Graves' loose hole and he grips Graves' hips, hard, to bring Graves back to him before he thrusts back into the eager hole just waiting for him. The new angle makes Graves cry out, his cock giving a valiant effort to rise up again and Grindelwald is close but if Graves keeps trying to wriggle free he won’t -

"Credence," he says. "Come here."

Credence gulps. He can't move. He stares at Mr. Graves on the desk, and he's never seen anything more beautiful.

His feet move before he realizes it.

"No - Gellert don't you dare -" Graves twists desperately.

"Credence - " Grindelwald says, gritting his teeth, "I want you to hold him down for me. By the throat, if necessary. That'll make him go soft as a kitten."

Graves gives a soft whimper, a small plea; Credence nods, enraptured, moving as if in a dream. He looks down at Graves’ flushed, helpless, shame filled face. "Credence, you... I’m sorry -”

"Very good, my boy," Grindelwald purrs.

Credence reaches down and lays his hands on Mr. Graves' chest, and it's like a bolt through him. Suddenly it's real, and his grip tightens. Graves whimpers, turning his head away.

"Oh no you don't," Grindelwald repeats. "Credence. Have him look at me.”

Credence swallows and does, fingers brushing against the sides of Graves’ face to turn it around until Graves is staring at the ceiling again. He looks so helpless like this; so gorgeous. Credence’s cock is aching, and he _wants_ but he’s not sure Grindelwald will allow him.

“Good,” Grindelwald says. “Very good. Go on now, try the throat.”

“How?” Credence murmurs with difficulty.

“Look at him,” Grindelwald says. “Explore him. Touch him. Start with his lips.”

Credence does, tracing a finger over Graves’ thin, wet lips. Graves’ mouth is open, small, little sounds falling from his lips, and Credence wants nothing more than to dip his finger inside.

“Go on,” Grindelwald says, as if reading his thoughts. “He won’t protest. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

Graves opens his mouth as if to answer but before he can, Credence’s fingers are on his tongue and Graves chokes slightly. The digits explore, Credence looking curiously at Graves’ face as he _feels_ the softness and wetness of Graves’ insides.

He remembers Grindelwald’s instructions and brings his fingertips to the side of Graves’ neck, softly caressing the skin there, circling it until they’re resting over Graves’ adam apple. Graves gulps. Credence feels the movement beneath his fingers and decides to press down a little harder.

“Good,” Grindelwald says, voice low. “Very good. Look at you, Mr. Graves. Mouth stretched wide around your student’s fingers. What would people say if they knew?”

Tears spill down Graves’ cheeks, and he can’t answer with Credence’s fingers resting on his tongue. He doesn’t even know what he would say if he could speak. He feels utterly helpless. _This shouldn’t be happening._

“If he tries to protest again, gag him,” Grindelwald instructs. “You’re doing great, Credence. Now - hold him down. Both hands around his throat, that’s it. I’ve waited more than enough.”

Credence’s fingers leave his mouth, strings of saliva connecting him and Graves, and Credence wonders what that tastes like. As his hands close around Graves’ throat he shivers. He pictures holding him down hard, gripping the soft skin hard enough to bruise, and he wants it. He imagines what it would be like, to see Mr Graves walking around with bruises Credence gave him. As if Credence owned him. A strong man like Mr. Graves beneath him - in Credence’s dreams he was always the one being held down, but this… He shivers again, hands pressing down a little harder and looks back at Grindelwald expectantly. Graves’ large hands hold onto Credence’s forearm, instinct against the threatening pressure at his windpipe, but he does go still. Just as Grindelwald said.

“Perfect.”

Grindelwald buries himself to the hilt once more inside Graves, hands splayed over his hips, and says, “Now, princess, you’re going to be a good darling and take it, alright?” He taps a finger against Graves’ half erect cock and Graves’ whole body jerks, a whine escaping his lips. Credence feels the vibrations against the sensitive skin of his fingers. “Or we won’t take care of you afterwards.”

Graves gives a tiny moan in response and Grindelwald fondly caresses the jut of his hips before gripping them again. He pulls back, until just the tip of his fat cock is inside Graves and he slams back in, eyes shutting as renewed starbursts of pleasure travel up his spine. Graves is perfect.

Grindelwald fucks Graves mercilessly, hard enough to make his whole body rock up the desk into Credence. Graves is breathing shallowly. Credence isn’t squeezing hard enough to cut off his air, as much as he wishes he were – his own breath hitches at the thought of Graves red faced and gasping beneath him – but the threat of it is enough. The way Graves’ eyes flit around the room searching futilely for some avenue of escape makes Credence’s cock throb.

His gaze locks with Credence’s, shame and arousal burned across his face, and he closes his eyes. Credence’s fingers tighten dangerously around his throat. Graves whimpers in response but despite his hands on Credence’s forearms, he takes it. Graves makes a funny sort of choking noise which Credence feels under his hands, and Credence really didn’t think he was gripping that hard. He looks to Grindelwald who nods jerkily, clearly caught in the rush of his own arousal.

“That’s it my boy, make him – _uh_ – make him be good for you. He’ll do it, just show him you mean it.”

Credence doesn’t let up the pressure. Graves knows what Credence wants. He wants Graves to open his eyes, to watch himself get fucked and see how much Grindelwald enjoys it. How much Credence enjoys it.

Looking as though it’s killing him, Graves does.

He sees Credence looking at him with a mix of hunger and wonder, sees Grindelwald with his head thrown back and his hips working furiously, and he _feels_ – He feels Grindelwald’s thick cock sliding into him, the boy’s hands tight around his throat – how old is Credence again? Christ, he doesn’t want to know – and the sick humiliation and helplessness pooling in his stomach. There’s nothing he can do but be good and take it.

Grindelwald is grunting in time with his thrusts, working up, up, relishing the feel of Graves’ hot, eager hole around his cock and he’s so close, but he needs _more._

“Credence,” he grits out. “Make him tighten up.”

Make him tighter? How? Credence’s eyes travel the length of Graves’ body, and he looks to Grindelwald for instruction.

“Now,” Grindelwald snarls.

Credence’s eyes fall on Graves’ nipple, a hard little nub poking out from his half open shirt. Credence just needs to make Graves tense up, right? He digs his fingernails into the sensitive pink skin as he yanks and twists, and Graves screams.

“Yes - yes - _yes!”_ Grindelwald curses as he slams into Graves once more and stills, shuddering, and Graves whimpers as he feels Grindelwald’s come fill him. The other man is gripping Graves’ hips hard enough to bruise, eyes closed and grunting as he enjoys the bliss Graves’ body gives him and Graves closes his eyes. When Grindelwald is done he pulls out, and Graves can feel _every_ inch of Grindelwald’s softening cock slip out of his wet hole, feel lube and come dribble down his ass cheeks, making him shiver. Credence still hasn’t let up the pressure on his throat but the fingers on his nipple are now kneading the flesh, around and _on_ the little pink nub in an almost soothing manner.

Grindelwald tucks himself back into his pants, satisfied, and Graves feels the pressure at his throat lighten up - Credence hesitates, what should he do now? - and he wants to get up and fix this but Grindelwald gives him one sharp look of warning when he sees Graves’ hips rise up minutely off the table and Graves freezes.

“Let him go, Credence. Percival, sweetheart - don’t you dare move.”

Credence steps away from him, leaving Graves to lay there on the table, legs still spread and come cooling up his ass, shirt half opened and hair in complete disarray, soft bruises forming around his hips. His own cock is hard again, flushed and sensitive above his stomach. Graves doesn’t dare touch it.

“Look at him,” he hears Grindelwald murmur. “Isn’t he pretty?”

Grindelwald chuckles, then, and Graves imagines Credence must have nodded.

“Go ahead, he won’t mind.”

Graves doesn’t know what Grindelwald is talking about, but he’s fairly certain he will mind. He jumps when he feels fingers at his hole – smaller than Grindelwald’s, more slender. Credence. Credence is fingering Graves’ loose, wet hole, circling the rim before he presses inside experimentally. Graves jerks again, he’s too sensitive and even if he weren’t he wouldn’t want this, but Grindelwald makes a low, disapproving noise, and Graves goes still.

“Percival, dearest. Sweet.” His tone is soft. Dangerous. “What did I just say?”

Graves is still, unmoving even as Credence’s fingers probe his ass, but he should never have expected that to be enough for Grindelwald.

“Tell me.”

Graves doesn't want to. He shudders as Credence rubs his insides and he tries to hold it back, a sob escaping him.

“Don't move,” he whispers.

“That's it. So why don't you do as I say and let the boy play with your lovely cunt.”

Credence gasps as he watches his fingers be swallowed up in Graves’ eager hole, feeling it twitch around him as it tries to close up but not quite managing. Whatever Graves says he must love it, Credence thinks, or his hole wouldn't take Credence's fingers so gorgeously. He loves the sight of it, the feel of it, slick with Grindelwald’s come and swollen up red. Credence can fit two fingers in easily, and he's so soft inside. Credence presses in deep and Graves hisses, but he stays in place.

“What do you want to do to him now, Credence? We can’t leave you with -” Credence yelps. “- this, now, can we?” Grindelwald purrs, cupping Credence through his pants. Credence trembles in his arms, unused to such attention and overly sensitive to the touch. He could come like this, but Grindelwald wants to see something else.

Graves shifts his legs, starting to be really uncomfortable and cold. The table at his back hurts. And then he hears, “Use his throat.”

His eyes widen and he turns his head to see Credence nodding jerkily, eyes never leaving Graves’ and chest rising and falling rapidly.

“A boy your age watches porn, right? You know how this goes. Remember that soft, wet mouth you felt before? Imagine _that_ around your cock, darling.”

Graves shakes his head weakly, desperate. “No - Gellert, please. We're his teachers, we could lose our…”

Grindelwald’s smile is sharp and cruel, and Graves turns his head away, helpless. He hears Credence’s footsteps as he walks around the desk, back to Graves’ head. Then - Grindelwald’s, as he comes to stand by Graves’ side.

“Tilt his head back,” Grindelwald instructs. Fingers under Graves’ chin, immediate and quick to obey. “Percival. You know what to do.”

Graves shakes his head. Something dark flashes in Grindelwald’s eyes as he says, soft and dangerous, “No?”

Grindelwald trails the tips of his fingers down Graves’ body, circling his cock. He touches the soft skin of Graves’ stomach, his hipbones, the insides of his thighs. He brushes against Graves’ balls and Graves jerks and twists, trying to get away - his skin is too sensitive to the touch.

Graves shivers, and the worst part is that some part of him, some sick, dark part, does want it. But he can't. He can't do that, he can't let it happen.

“ _No,”_ he mouths, the word lost to breath.

“ _Yes_ ,” Grindelwald says. His fingers trail up Graves’ cock and then viciously wrap themselves around the base.

“No, no, no - Gellert, please,” Graves begs, knowing what’s about to come. “I can’t -”

Grindelwald smiles at him, and he leans down and parts his lips to take Graves’ cock. Graves shudders helplessly as hot, wet heat surrounds him; Grindelwald knows him, knows how to make him scream and in no time he is close, so close, almost there but not quite and he begs. Grindelwald pulls off him.

“You want to come? You want to come, honey?”

“Fuck you,” Graves sobs as Grindelwald descends on his cock once more. “Oh _god_ -” His hips buck as he desperately tries to reach _something_ he knows he can’t have unless he gives in. Credence holds Graves’ wrists pinned to the table so he can’t shake Grindelwald off of him - he can only lie there and take the suffering, feeling utterly helpless. His eyes burn with tears. He feels one of Grindelwald’s big, probing fingers press against his entrance again and it’s too much.

“I’ll do it!” He yells. “Just, fuck, I’ll do it, please no more please -”

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Grindelwald purrs. He keeps his tight grip on Graves’ cock until Graves has calmed down again - the tears falling freely this time, why, he was so close why why why - and when he has, Graves plants his feet on the table and backs up by himself, until his head is dangling over the edge, aligned with Credence’s bulge. He’s about to let an underage student fuck his throat - fuck, he’s about to give a blowjob to one of his _underage_ students.

“Fuck you,” he says to Grindelwald, wetting his lips as Credence pulls down his fly. Grindelwald only smirks at him, smug. “I hate you.”

“Oh, love.” Grindelwald pets the side of his face, gentle, almost a caress. “I know. Open your mouth.”

Hopelessly, Graves does. He feels Credence’s fingers on his lips, pressing into his mouth and smearing saliva across his lips. Credence presses his fingers in deeper, feeling out Graves’ mouth, working across his tongue until he hits the back of his throat and he chokes. Grindelwald tuts.

“Come on, you can take more than that. Isn’t that right?” Hesitantly, Graves nods. He knows he can. “Then let the boy have his fun.”

Graves swallows, and opens his mouth again.

“Go on, Credence. He's ready for you.”

The next thing Graves feels is Credence’s cock against his lips, then _past_ them as it enters him. He closes his eyes, lets his mind drift, lets himself feel. He relaxes his jaw, lets Credence fill him up until he is pressing against the back of his throat and Graves gags. Credence is cursing under his breath above him. The boy has probably never felt anything like the inside of a mouth before, and Graves feels both pleased, and repulsed with himself for taking advantage of a high schooler.

Then Credence starts to move slowly and Graves’ mind goes blank. He struggles to time his breaths with Credence’s thrusts, and focusing on that is the only thing that keeps him from breaking. He can't think about what's happening, he can't think about what this is. Credence’s thrusts are becoming erratic, and Graves knows he’s close and tries to use his tongue - Credence cries out, so he must have succeeded - when Grindelwald’s soft voice reaches his clouded mind.

“I can see him.”

Graves doesn't understand what he means, but then his hand is pressing over Graves’ throat and oh - oh god -

“I can see him in you, pet.”

Grindelwald isn't really squeezing, not hard, but with Credence’s cock in him Graves can barely breathe. He cannot speak, he cannot protest.

“You all right, baby?” Grindelwald asks mockingly, and Graves hums desperately around the cock in his mouth. It only makes Credence yell out a “ _Fuck!_ ” while he keeps pistoning Graves’ mouth relentlessly, hands gripping the sides of Graves’ face.

“Close?” Grindelwald says, looking at Credence and the poor boy nods desperately. “How close?”

“Soon,” Credence gasps, desperate. “There - yes - _yes_ -”

And Grindelwald - Grindelwald rubs Graves’ throat, massaging Credence’s cock with Graves’ body.

Graves has never felt so utterly helpless.

Credence’s hips stutter to a halt, his hair obscuring his face and mouth open wide. Graves feels the familiar taste of come flood his mouth, and he’s managing, he can manage it - until Grindelwald pinches his nose shut.

Graves’ body jerks instinctively, twisting on the table, but there's nowhere to go. Panic floods through him as Grindelwald’s hand tightens around his throat and he can't do this, he needs to breathe, he needs Grindelwald to let him breathe. He can't even beg, he can't do anything but writhe and take it. He coughs and chokes, he can’t swallow like this, he’s panicking, he's _scared._

Credence’s cock is pulsing in him and he's not pulling out and Grindelwald isn't relenting. Graves is making desperate little gurgles, he doesn't know what to do, he can't breathe, he can't see - there are spots in his vision and it's going grey around the edges, his head pounding. Grindelwald is saying something above him - he's enjoying this, the _bastard -_ but Graves can't focus on the words.

Graves works his throat, fighting to get his reflexes under control, because if he swallows maybe Grindelwald will allow him to breathe. Credence is moaning with the feeling of Graves’ struggle, he must be loving having Graves on his cock -

Graves can feel Credence’s come sliding down his throat as he gulps and somehow, perhaps through pure instinct for survival, Graves swallows it all.

“Good,” Grindelwald purrs. “Very good.” The pressure over his nose and throat both relax, Credence’s softening cock slips out of Graves’ mouth and Graves realizes his cheeks are wet. He is gasping, trembling, taking in big gulps of air and trying to calm the racing of his heart. He wipes his eyes with his hand and he’s not sure he can speak, his throat feels raw and abused but he still tries.

He can barely get a word out before Grindelwald wraps his big hand around Graves’ cock - soft again after his ordeal - and starts dragging his fingers up and down.

“ _No_ ,” Graves moans, broken.

“No? I can’t leave you like this, pet. Not after you served us so well.”

“I didn’t want to,” Graves whimpers. “Not like this.”

“Sssh,” Grindelwald soothes him. “You did so well. Now just lie back and relax, all right?”

“I _can’t_ -”

But he doesn't get a choice. Grindelwald’s fingers are working his cock, touching him just right, and his cock is starting to rise again even after what Grindelwald and Credence did to him. He’s dizzy, disoriented, and he can't help the way his mind catches on Grindelwald’s words. _He did well._ He shakes his head, trying to clear it, but in the end he just falls back onto the table, exhausted.

Credence’s hands are on him again and Graves knows it should feel wrong, it _is_ wrong, but it makes him shiver. Credence’s fingers are back on his nipple, rubbing in gentle, soothing circles and massaging the muscle of his chest, and Graves can feel himself relaxing. He’s going to kill Grindelwald later, he’s going to fix this - somehow - but right now… right now it just feels good.

“That’s right, sweetheart,” Grindelwald murmurs, low and gentle - a stark contrast to how he’d behaved only minutes before. “What do you want?”

Graves shakes his head, helpless. He doesn’t know, he can’t know - he just wants them to continue touching him like this, craves the surety of their warm hands all over his body. No more hurt.

“Please…” Graves moans. “Please, just, don’t…”

“Don’t what, pet?”

“...Don’t stop.”

Grindelwald’s face glows with delight. “Oh, don’t you worry. I won’t.”

Graves shivers - he doesn’t know whether the words are a promise or a threat. Knowing Grindelwald, they could very well be both, but he’ll put a stop to it before it happens, he promises himself. He’s been humiliated enough, debased enough, and he’ll put a stop to it. Later, he will.

Grindelwald’s hands trail up his inner thighs, sending warm sparks through him, before Grindelwald rests his palm flat over Graves’ stomach. Graves knows he’s not supposed to move but he presses up into it, he can’t help himself, he needs the gentleness. His throat still burns, there are tears in his eyes, but it’s easier to ignore with their soft hands on him.

Something tickles his face and he realizes it’s Credence’s hair. The kid is leaning down, tilting Graves’ chin up to better access his mouth before pressing his wet lips down on Graves’. Graves can do that. When Credence softly brushes his tongue against Graves’ lower lip the teacher responds automatically, parting his lips for his student. The kiss is warm, wet and slow, and this coupled with Grindelwald’s lazy strokes on his cock and Credence’s hands over his nipples is enough to drive Graves mad. Credence licks in deep and Graves can tell he’s inexperienced, but he’s so eager. Graves shows him what to do - he catches Credence’s lower lip between his teeth and suckles on it, drawing a gasp from Credence. Grindelwald’s movements quicken and Graves moans, only able to pant in Credence’s open mouth now and the kid smiles at him. Graves squeezes his eyes shut, letting the sensations overwhelm him - letting Credence have his way with him.

There’s warmth washing through him, spreading out from his lips and his cock and anywhere Credence or Grindelwald is touching him. He’s so close now, so near to it, Grindelwald stroking his cock just right. And then Credence brings his hand up to cup Graves’ cheek, warm and soft and possessive, and pleasure floods through him as his cock jerks in Grindelwald’s hand.

“Gorgeous,” Grindelwald says, enraptured. “Fucking gorgeous, I’ll never get over it - look at that face -”

Graves is lost in waves of bliss, unable to keep track of himself or who’s touching him, letting his thoughts float away in the afterglow. He feels even more dazed, a rag doll on top of the table as he blinks at the ceiling, trying to find his way back to his senses.

And then - Grindelwald doesn’t stop.

He caresses Graves’ cock again and it makes Graves’ whole body twist and jerk, trying to get away. It hurts, he just came - it cuts through the warm glow and he squirms, trying to escape Grindelwald’s fingers.

“Stop,” he whines. “I can’t -”

“Stop?” Grindelwald’s smile is cruel. “I distinctly remember you begging me to do the opposite. Watch and learn, Credence.”

“No, no - oh my _God_ -”

Two fingers slip past his rim easily and Grindelwald searches for that spot he knows well within Graves’ body, crooking his fingers just right and _pressing_ down. Graves’ façade cracks, he can’t do this, he feels burning tears on his cheeks. It had felt so good, he’d just wanted the pain to stop and now - _why_ -

“Fuck, no, oh _fuck_ -” Grindelwald is holding him down, one arm pressing over Graves’ stomach, putting his weight into it and making it hard for Graves to breathe while his other hand still moves inside Graves, covering that spot and not giving Graves any respite.

Graves twists desperately, he doesn’t think there’s anything Grindelwald could say to make him hold still right now, he just wants this to stop. His hands scrabble at the table, trying to find purchase, but the surface is smooth and there’s nothing to grab onto. His hips are pinned painfully, and the more he struggles the more weight Grindelwald puts on his abdomen.

He doesn’t think he can come again, but the pleasure is mounting, mounting and cresting and impossibly he does. The familiar feeling spreads through him and leaves him screaming, yet his cock doesn’t give anything. The orgasm is ripped out of him, like something torn from his very center, pleasure so intense it borders on pain.

And impossibly, Grindelwald hums and continues, uncaring about the tears on Graves’ face.  Graves’ hands find Grindelwald’s arm and he shoves, but he can’t dislodge it. He looks around wildly, desperately, searching out any hope of escape.

His eyes fall on Credence, standing a few paces back from the table. Touching himself.

“Credence…” he whines. “Please. Please help me.”

Credence is staring entranced, watching Grindelwald work, watching him drive Graves insane. Slowly, he drags his gaze up to meet Graves’.

“I don’t think I want to, Mr. Graves.”

Graves closes his eyes, more tears falling as he feels the pain lessen and pleasure drag itself up his spine with each pass of Grindelwald’s fingers. “Please,” he whispers. “Please.”

He gets no answer. Credence’s eyes are already back on Graves’ pained cock, swelling once again.

“I wonder how many times I can make you come,” Grindelwald muses out loud, more to himself than to Graves, ignoring Graves’ pained gasp. “Our last record was three - now that just won’t do. We can do much better.”

“No!” Graves protests, weak. “You’re going to kill me!”

“And what a way to go. Did you know, Credence,” Grindelwald says conversationally, breathless in the face of Graves’ struggles on the table but holding on firmly, “That a French president died during sex?”

“What the fuck,” Graves sobs.

“Indeed,” Grindelwald smiles. “He was old and…” Grindelwald drags his arm slowly down, the fabric of his shirt featherlight against the length of Graves’ cock but still _too much_ \- “...Just a bit too excited.”

Graves closes his eyes as Grindelwald presses into him viciously, forcing a burst of pain through him once more. He’s begging incoherently, he doesn’t know how much more his body can take. But Grindelwald is going to find out.

Everything blurs together in Graves’ head, the pain and the pleasure and Grindelwald’s voice all running together like some sort of fever dream. The only things left in his world are Grindelwald’s fingers inside him and the arcing, burning sear of pleasure. He loses count of how many times Grindelwald makes him come.

He has no idea how long it takes. His body feels like a burned out husk, raw with what Grindelwald took from him, and he’s completely limp. He can’t move.

Somewhere above him Grindelwald sighs. “Well my boy, I think that's the best we're going to get from him.” Grindelwald prods his soft cock and Graves’ whole body spasms involuntarily, a pained cry falling weakly from his lips. Grindelwald soothes him, bringing a hand up to pat Graves’ cheek distractedly. “What time is it?”

“Almost ten,” Credence replies softly, somewhere in the room. Graves is trembling and twitching on the table, unable to figure out where the voices come from or what they say. He needs care, he needs comfort yet the other men are drifting away.

“Will you be alright going home?”

“Yes, Sir,” Credence says. “It would help if you gave me a handwritten note explaining why I’m at the residency so late.”

“Of course. Let me just get a pen -” Graves whines on the table. “ - Hush, sweetheart. A pen and paper…” Graves hears the scribble of Grindelwald writing, and then he’s giving Credence the note. “Off you go, Credence. My number is on this - we should...” His voice trails off as he looks at the wrecked mess of a man Graves has become, and Credence follows his gaze. “...Do this again sometime,” he murmurs. “I’m sure there are lots of other ways I could make him scream.”

Credence gulps and nods. “Yes, Sir.”

“Go.” Grindelwald smirks.

Credence obeys him, slipping past the ajar door and into the dark corridor and Grindelwald rakes a hand through his hair, sighing, deciding how best to deal with the weeping man in the middle of the room.

Graves flinches when Grindelwald touches his shoulder, and Grindelwald thinks that maybe, just maybe - he went a bit too far. And if he was a better man, he might have cared.

“Sweetheart.”

Graves whimpers.

“Come on, pet. It’s over.”

Graves searches for him, trying unseeingly to follow the voice. “Please… p-please, Gellert, help me.”

“Sssh. It’s alright. I’ve got you.” Grindelwald slowly helps him to sit up, one strong hand on the small of his back. Graves’ vision darkens around the edges as he pulls himself upright. His hands are trembling. He’s still undressed and weeps harder at the sight of himself. It’s like something’s broken inside him. He doesn’t think he’ll ever feel pleasure again. He clings to Grindelwald as his only anchor, both sickened and reassured at the contact. “Come on. Do I have to carry you?”

Graves shakes his head.

“Can you stand?”

Graves hesitates. He… he doesn’t know.

“What if you lean on the table?”

Graves thinks, and gives a tiny nod. Slowly, Grindelwald helps him as he rights himself up until his feet are touching the floor. His knees wobble almost immediately and he has to cling to the lapels of Grindelwald’s vest in order not to fall. Grindelwald breathes deeply and kisses Graves’ forehead. Graves’ hand reaches out blindly behind him, trying to find the edge of the table and Grindelwald guides him until Graves finds support.

“Let’s get you dressed, shall we?” Grindelwald murmurs.

Graves nods. He doesn’t want to be naked, he’s cold and shivering against Grindelwald’s warm body. He doesn’t know what happened to his clothes. Grindelwald leaves him for a moment and the room spins as Graves stands alone, but Grindelwald returns with Graves’ shirt in his hands. Grindelwald helps him dress, collecting his clothes from wherever they were strewn. The fabric is almost too much against his skin, but it’s warm. He’s still sticky underneath his clothes, damp with sweat and come and tears. He feels disgusting, and he sobs into Grindelwald’s chest.

“Now, now. There’s no need for that, darling. You asked for this.”

Graves looks up at him and he knows Grindelwald is right. This is his fault. He nods. He shouldn’t have teased Grindelwald, he shouldn’t have asked for more.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. His voice doesn’t feel like it belongs to him. “But I - I - I didn’t -”

“Stop talking,” Grindelwald says, something akin to pity in his eyes. Or is it amusement? Graves doesn’t know. Grindelwald drags his thumbs over Graves’ cheeks, beneath his eyes, wiping his tears away. Graves lets the familiar gesture soothe him.

“That’s it, doll. What was all that fuss about, hmm?”

Graves shakes his head, unable to form words. He should have known better. Next time he’ll do better. He wants to be held, but it burns to be touched. He looks to Grindelwald, craving reassurance, affection, he just wants to be told it's going to be okay…

He tips his head up, lips parted, looking for the comfort he doesn't know if he can stand. Grindelwald lays one finger across his lips.

“Oh, pet.” His tone is soft and soothing. “Do you think you deserve that?”

Graves trembles as more tears slide down his cheeks. He's empty, he needs Grindelwald to breathe life back into him, but he… he doesn't deserve that. He shakes his head. He wishes he could pick up the pieces of himself as easily as Grindelwald picked up his clothes. He doesn't even know where he’d start.

Grindelwald grips Graves’ chin and peers into his eyes, looking for some hint of lucidity, some indication that Graves knows where he is or what's happening. When he doesn't find it he sighs, patting Graves’ cheek fondly.

“That's all right. I'm sure you'll do better next time, sweetheart.”

He doesn't know if Graves is comprehending a word he says.

“Come on, let’s get you home.”

Grindelwald wraps an arm around Graves’ torso and guides him out of the building, the poor man shaking and trembling with every step. Grindelwald finds them a taxi, giving Graves’ address while apologizing that his friend has had too much to drink. If the driver finds anything odd about picking them up from a school, he doesn’t say so. Grindelwald pulls Graves into the back seat after him and the man slumps against him, apparently unable to keep himself upright any longer.

By the time they’re standing on Graves’ front step it’s clear he’s not coming back to his senses any time soon. He seems to have shut down, perhaps finding that easier than dealing with the reality of what happened to him. The amount of work Graves requires right now is quite the hassle, but it will be worth it in the end when he folds just that much easier next time. Grindelwald fishes in Graves’ pocket for the key, depositing it in his own pocket once the door is unlocked, and hauls Graves inside.

“You need a shower,” Grindelwald mumbles as he helps Graves sit on a chair. “Think you can manage that on your own?”

Graves shakes his head.

“Ah, well I'm not washing you, sweetheart. Let's just dress you up for bed, all right?”

Grindelwald unzips Graves’ pants, cold and professional. Quickly Graves finds himself naked once again, shivering in the cold air of the room and where did Grindelwald go? He whines, trying to call the other man back to him.

When Grindelwald comes back he holds Graves’ pajamas in his hands, and he slowly helps Graves put them on like a child. Graves is too exhausted, too grateful for the support, to feel the humiliation of it.

“Get up, pet.”

Graves does his best to obey. He feels like a newborn fawn, on shaking legs, and Grindelwald sighs and supports him all the long way to his bedroom before dropping him on the bed. He can’t even pull the blanket over himself, lying there shivering as Grindelwald watches him.

“Must I do everything for you?”

Graves doesn't reply. Annoyed now, Grindelwald pulls the blanket back before grabbing Graves’ ankles and maneuvering them, properly positioning Graves on the bed before tucking him back under the covers.

“You probably need water too...”

“B - Bottle,” Graves tries weakly. His throat _hurts_ , burning with each syllable. “In the d - drawer.”

“So you can speak after all.”

“P - please.” His mouth is so dry, and now that he’s thinking of water he can’t stop. He needs it, he needs it desperately.

“The drawer is right there. Can't you do it yourself?”

“ _Please_.” He feels a single tear trail down his cheek.

“We've really made a mess of you, haven't we?” Grindelwald murmurs. He walks to the other side of the bed, opens the drawer, and uncaps the bottle. He holds the back of Graves’ head with one hand and tilts the bottle back for him with the other. Graves drinks greedily, water falling down his chin and onto his pajama top, the bed covers, but it feels so good. The pain in his mouth eases as the water flows down his throat and he can feel it filling him, a cool sensation spreading through him. Grindelwald is probably spilling more than Graves is drinking, but it doesn’t matter.

“Better?” Graves nods. “Good.”

Grindelwald places the bottle back on the bedside table. He reaches out to Graves and covers the top of Graves’ face with one hand, forcing Graves to close his eyes, and gently presses down. “Sleep.”

Graves feels himself falling, down into the softness of the pillows, into the darkness, into Grindelwald’s touch, and he does.

He feels lips upon his forehead, light and soft, the touch of a hand against his brow, and sighs contentedly.

Grindelwald watches as Graves falls into unconsciousness, soft and helpless in the bed. He really is gorgeous. Even more beautiful when broken. Grindelwald watches him for a few long moments, taking in the soft lines of his face, the way his hair falls across his eyes, before he turns to go. He walks back through the dark flat, pulling Graves’ keys from his pocket and locking the front door behind him.

 

\----------------------------------------

 

Sunlight falls across Graves’ face and he squeezes his eyes tighter shut, trying to find his way back to sleep. He’s _exhausted_ , as though he’s hardly slept at all. What are the curtains doing open anyway? He always closes them at night, he can’t sleep with the light falling on him. He rolls over to bury his head in his pillow.

His mouth feels dry, gross, his throat hurting; blindly, he reaches towards the bottle he keeps in his nightstand drawer, fumbling to pull it out. It’s not there, and he squints his eyes open. It’s sitting there on the table and he reaches for it - and hisses at the deep ache the movement inspires. He’s sore all over, pain sitting deep in his muscles, and - and in his ass.

Oh God.

_“You don’t know how long I’ve dreamed of taking you like this, over your own desk.”_

Grindelwald had -

_“Gorgeous. Fucking gorgeous, I’ll never get over it - look at that face -”_

He _had_ -

 _“Look at you, Mr. Graves. Mouth stretched wide around your student’s fingers. What would people say if they knew?_ ”

And _Credence_ , oh lord -

_“Why don't you do as I say and let the boy play with your lovely cunt.”_

Graves feels sick. He hurriedly gets down from the bed, hissing at the pain and needing to pause to regain his bearings. He limps to the bathroom, feeling disgusting - something pulls at the skin of his inner thighs with each step, and he doesn't recall having showered last night.

He doesn't recall anything after Grindelwald ignored his screams.

He stares at his own face in the mirror, haggard, and barely recognizes himself.

_He'd given a blow job to an underage student under his responsibility -_

Graves grabs the mouthwash, frantic, and almost gulps it down in order to get rid of the lingering _taste_ of -

Of -

Oh.

God.

_Desperate little gurgles escape him, he doesn't know what to do, he can't breathe, he can't see - there are spots in his vision and it's going grey around the edges, his head pounding._

Graves’ knees wobble, something like a hysterical laugh bubbling its way up from his heart to his throat.

Grindelwald had almost killed him.

He clings to the edge of the counter, knuckles white, gripping it just to keep himself standing. He remembers the shock, the adrenaline, the _panic_.

How could Grindelwald -

How could he do this to him?

Without warning?

How dare he?

_Who does he think he is?_

Anger bubbles up inside him and Graves clings to it. Anger is good, anger is familiar, anger helps him focus on anything else but his own actions.

It was Grindelwald’s fault.

Grindelwald did this.

Graves brushes his teeth, washes his mouth out until any lingering trace of last night is gone. He can still taste it.

He reaches over to the shower, twisting the faucet sharply to turn the water on, and he steps in when it’s still too cold. He flinches as the water hits his skin, but he can’t stand to leave the mess on his thighs another moment longer.

He scrubs at himself with a washcloth furiously until his skin is red and raw. He can still feel it.

When he finds the dark imprints of Grindelwald’s fingers on his hips he chokes back the sob that tries to force it’s way up his throat. He refuses to let it manifest, not now, not like this.

He stays in the shower until the water cycles through to cold again, and he drags himself back to his bedroom to dress. Underwear, pants, socks, a long sleeve sweater - he goes through three before he finds one that doesn’t sit too tightly across his throat.

This has to end. He’s going to tell Grindelwald that it has to end. He doesn’t know how to fix what happened with Credence, he doesn’t know if he _can_ , but he can make sure it never happens again. He can make sure Grindelwald never uses him this way again, never does this to him, never acts as though he _owns_ him, ever again.

With unsteady hands he makes himself coffee, and he lets the hot liquid scald his tongue.

Then he notices the kitchen clock.

Eleven o’clock. On a Thursday. _Shit._

He pulls out his phone and dials quickly, listening to the hollow ring in his ear for several long moments before Queenie picks up.

“Director Picquery’s office, how may I help you?”

“Queenie,” he rasps, throat aching as he tries to speak. “This is Percival. I’m so sorry, I -”

“Oh, Percival! No no, don’t you worry about it.” Her voice is light and cheery as always, and Graves closes his eyes in confusion.

“What?”

“Gellert already called in for you this morning. Madam Picquery gave you the rest of the week to get better.” Graves does his best to breathe, phone clasped tight in his hand. “It’s all right,” Queenie continues, misinterpreting his silence. “Madam Picquery understands, she’s not upset. We have someone covering your classes, you just take care of yourself, okay?”

Graves nods before remembering Queenie can’t see him. “Yes, I - Thank you Queenie.”

He hangs up before hearing whether she responds.

He doesn’t want Grindelwald to do this for him. He doesn’t want Grindelwald to do _anything_ for him. He’d rather Picquery call him unreliable and unsuited for the position than be that much further in Grindelwald’s debt.

When will he pay it back? When will what Grindelwald has done _to_ him balance against what the man has done _for_ him?

He knows what Grindelwald’s answer would be.

But Graves is done with that now. Nothing entitles Grindelwald to _this_ , nothing, Graves is going to show him that, he’s going to make someone else notice. He’ll get the man fired, he won’t give in until Grindelwald lets him go. He’s not going to lay back and take this. He’ll get Grindelwald arrested even, he thinks wildly, though for what Graves doesn’t know - and he’ll have his life back.

He’ll have himself back.

Graves’ phone chimes in his hand and he looks down in surprise. It’s a text message, and he opens it with a touch.

 ** _Gellert G:_** _Feeling better after what you did last night? I didn’t know you wanted it that badly but god, you were gorgeous sweetheart._

Graves sinks into a chair. His hands are shaking again and he sets his coffee down on the kitchen table lest it spill, images flooding back into his head.

_“Please… Please, just, don’t…”_

_“...Don’t stop.”_

Graves closes his eyes, head in his hands. His stomach twists. How could he have let this happen? How could he have done those things, begged for those things?

The phones chimes again in his lap. Grindelwald isn’t done.

 **_Gellert G:_ ** _Need me to look after you sweetheart? I’ll come by after work and get you all cleaned up, make you look pretty for me again._

 **_Gellert G:_ ** _Would you like that baby? Want me to hold you and rock you and tell you how pretty you are?_

 **_Gellert G:_ ** _You can snuggle in against me and I’ll touch you nice and slow, my arms around you, warm and safe. Does that sound good sweetheart?_

Tears prick threateningly at Graves’ eyes as he reads the messages. _No,_ he wants to scream, _that doesn’t sound good._ Graves isn’t ready to deal with this now. He needs time, he needs rest. But Grindelwald isn’t giving it to him.

He tries to compose a response in his head, all the things he wants to say swirling through his mind.

_It’s over now, we’re not doing this anymore. I’m not going to let you have me. Don’t ever touch me again. How dare you use me like that, if you had any respect for me at all you’d leave me alone. I owe you nothing. I’m not yours. I hate you._

He takes a deep breath, forcing air into his lungs and stilling his hands. He touches the screen. He types his reply.

He hits send. It has a finality to it, a weight that settles itself over him. He doesn’t quite know how to bare it, the emptiness that seeps through him. At last he lets the tears spill over.

 **_Percival G:_ ** _Please._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for going on this wild ride with us! Hope you enjoyed reading it as much as we did writing it :D


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